


Firm Foundations

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Background Aramis/Porthos - Freeform, Brotherhood, Character Death, Daddy Kink, Discipline Within a Loving Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild D/s, Past Athos/Milady - Freeform, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season 2. War with Spain is now over and Treville is struggling to adjust to a permanent position at court as the king's first minister. Out of touch with his Musketeers he is overjoyed to receive a personal visit from Porthos, but after some distressing news about Athos he realises that the ties are too strong to ignore and he will do everything in his power to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Treville glared down at his ridiculous silver shoe buckles as if they were the culprits, rather than life, for making him unusually irritable today. His world had narrowed of late, becoming a series of diminishing returns with no end in sight, and unfortunately he was left without any damned choice but to pull himself together and get on with it. He looked up, trying once more to listen to the king chattering on about inconsequential matters and failed dismally, understanding now why Richelieu had been such an ill tempered sod. He’d been wondering a lot recently how the cardinal had put up with this nonsense, year in year out, without going round the bend. Death must have been a welcome release.

Progression from Minister of War to the king’s advisor had been an understated and also an unwanted one. War with Spain now over, Treville had been hoping, quite desperately in fact, to get back to the garrison and his boys. Life at court did not suit him at all, but unfortunately Louis was a clingy monarch, recognising something paternal in Treville and requiring him to remain by his side at all times. Because of this, he had become a virtual prisoner at the palace, with all the fine belongings of a member of the royal family.

“Might I have a word with you, Captain?”

Treville looked up, smiling at the use of a much loved title that Porthos had never allowed him to relinquish. Expecting to see that familiar broad grin, he was surprised to find the battle scarred soldier looking weary and worried. “This way,” he said in a low voice. “We’ll speak in my rooms.”

“Thank you, sir.” Porthos strode next to him as they followed the maze of passageways through to the ministerial chambers at the far end of the Palais Royale.

“Is all well?” asked Treville. “How is Athos?”

“He’s recovering,” said Porthos. “He'll soon be fit enough to leave the hospital.”

Treville heaved a sigh of relief. Paris had recently been ravaged by an epidemic of fever. A quarter of the regiment had been quarantined. Twelve men had died from the sickness and it seemed for a while that Athos would add to the total, but he had a strong constitution and to everyone’s relief he did not succumb.

“A drink?” said Treville, closing the door to his chambers and pouring two glasses from the claret jug. “Sit, man,” he insisted, saddened that Porthos seemed so uncomfortable in his presence. “It’s a treat to see you, especially as you come bearing good news.”

Porthos sank into a chair and reached for the wine glass. “You may not think the news so good when I tell you all of it.”

Casting aside his loathsome ministerial robes, Treville took the chair opposite and leaned forward. “Then let us find out.”

“I was getting Athos’ rooms ready for his return.” Porthos almost managed a smile. “You know what a slum he chooses to live in.”

Treville steepled his hands and nodded. Athos was a habitual slob. However much he may have deplored the idea, the man had never quite got used to life without servants.

“Anyway,” continued Porthos. “I was clearing the hearth to build a fire when I found these.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sheaf of blackened papers, handing them to Treville. “I know this is an invasion of his privacy, but I had to show them to someone.”

Treville sifted through them. The letters were charred, many of the words eroded by flames, but the gist of them was chilling. 

Each one was an attempt at an apology, an explanation for what Athos intended to do. Treville imagined him alone in his rooms at the garrison, sitting at the desk trying to give reason to his friends why he could no longer live in this world. It had never been an easy existence for Athos, but to think of him suffering this uphill struggle by himself was truly heartbreaking.

“He intended to take his own life.”

Porthos nodded slowly. “I believe so, sir. The war took it out of all of us, but I didn’t realise Athos was so low until I read these. I don’t imagine being ill these past few weeks and stuck in a fever hospital has raised his spirits any.”

“I doubt it,” said Treville. The king had obstinately refused every one of his requests to go and visit the sick soldiers, but the reports he’d received had not described the place as anywhere close to pleasant. 

“I don’t think he should be left to his own devices when he returns,” said Porthos.

“No,” agreed Treville. “And with d’Artagnan and Constance away in England, it’ll be up to you and Aramis to keep an eye on him.”

More uncomfortable than ever, Porthos looked up. “That’s the problem, sir. Athos isn’t too happy with us at the moment. I’m sorry to say that Aramis and I have added to his burden.”

Treville sighed. For many years he had suspected the two soldiers of having a bond stronger than friendship and had finally confronted them with his suspicions before they rode off to war, advising them to be as discreet as possible at all times. When they had confessed their deep feelings for each other he’d been neither judgmental nor vindictive, treating them both with kindness, however at the same time he’d had no choice but to spell out the truth. Homosexuality was a sin in the eyes of the church, a crime punishable by death, and it was unlikely that it would be tolerated by their fellow soldiers. 

“He knows the truth about you?”

“He walked in on us when we were in my quarters here,” admitted Porthos. “We were stupid and reckless, I know, but after being stuck in camp for so long it was a relief to have some privacy.”

“What did he say?”

Porthos bowed his head. “He was upset about something before he saw us together. He then apologised and left. We tried to speak to him afterwards, but neither Aramis nor I were able to get a word out of him that wasn’t about duties. Soon after that he fell sick.” There was a long pause as Porthos attempted to control his emotions. ”I’m ashamed, sir. We’ve not only behaved with dishonour, but in doing so we’ve hurt a friend.”

Treville stood up and stared out of the window. “Self flagellation won't help the situation, Porthos,” he said. “Are you and Aramis the sole cause of his distress?”

“I don’t think so,” said Porthos. “Like I said, he was already upset when he burst in on us, though it’s true the discovery hasn’t exactly helped him any. With you and d’Artagnan gone, we were all he had left. He never found it easy to talk over his problems with us, let alone anyone else.”

“That he didn’t,” said Treville, hating the fact that they were discussing Athos in the past tense as if he’d already left them. “Bring him here to recuperate,” he said. “We’ll think of some excuse. Say that the arrondissement is still quarantined and he cannot return to the garrison.”

“Have you got room for him?” asked Porthos, looking around him at the darkly lit suite.

“More than enough,” said Treville. These chambers weren’t large, but there were two separate rooms which would suffice, allowing them both a little privacy. He would have one of his trusted servants bring a cot in for Athos to sleep on. “The king will not approve of the plan.” He smiled. “But then I see no reason why he should ever find out.”

“Thank you, Captain Treville,” said Porthos.

“I’m no longer your commander,” Treville reminded him.

Porthos shook his hand, enclosing it in a second gloved paw. “You’ll always be my captain and Athos will always be my brother.”


	2. Chapter 2

The man who arrived at the palace a week later was unrecognisable as someone who had once been Treville’s best soldier and right hand. Rail thin with unkempt hair that covered his face, Athos sank down into a chair and reached immediately for the claret jug in front of him on the table.

“Food first,” said Treville, handing him a platter of stew.

Athos set it down untouched and poured himself a drink. “No offence, Minister, but why am I here? If the garrison is in a quarantine zone then I have rooms elsewhere.”

“Also out of bounds at present,” said Treville gruffly. “But if you’d rather sleep on the streets.” He paused. “Or stay with Aramis and Porthos at their current lodgings.”

“This will do,” said Athos without a flicker of emotion on his face. “But I warn you I will not be good company.”

“Have you ever?” said Treville.

Athos smirked. “No, I suppose I can hardly be accused of that. I’ll try my best to keep out of your way.”

“Good,” said Treville. “Now eat up and then go to bed. You need to regain some condition,my lad.”

“You speak as if I’m a workhorse,” said Athos with a familiar arch of his brow.

“A soldier is little different to that,” answered Treville and he watched with a sideways glance to see Athos pick up the plate and spoon broth into his mouth. The servants’ food from the palace kitchens was always good, nourishing fodder.

Having requested a tub of water to be brought to his rooms, Treville then left Athos alone to bathe and rest, since he himself had the bothersome duty of a banquet to attend. Louis and Anne were entertaining a royal party from the Lowlands where he’d be obliged to be as obsequious as the rest of the courtiers, something that didn’t come easy to him.

The first hour was chaotic with all the children allowed to romp around the state rooms, both couples showing off their beloved progeny. Treville found it impossible to look upon the young dauphin without affection, knowing the true identity of his father. The boy was a delightful menace, bringing joy to his parents, and not for the first time Treville wondered how Porthos had coped with the news that his long time lover had been unfaithful to him with the queen. It must have been difficult to bear. He’d never understand the desire to attach oneself to another person. It was far better to live a solitary existence, however lonely it might be.

“You’re very quiet, Treville,” said the king, waving a chicken drumstick in his direction. “Do you not approve of our plans for a treaty of mutual co-operation?”

“All alliances are to be encouraged, Majesty,” replied Treville, sounding far too much like Richelieu for his own ears. Why did the blasted man have to go and die on him? If he’d stayed alive then there would have been none of the mess with Rochefort and no need for war with Spain.

“Well, you could try to sound more excited about it,” said Louis petulantly. His childish outbursts were less frequent nowadays, but in some ways this made them even more irritating.

“I am as enthusiastic as you, Sire,” replied Treville.

“You always seemed far more engaged when it came to matters of soldiering,” said Louis with a theatrical sigh of disappointment.

“Perhaps because he _is_ a soldier, my dear,” said the queen with a quick smile at Treville.

Inclining his head in gratitude, Treville attempted to participate more in the political discussions, the weight on his shoulders equal to the increasing load the banquet table was bearing, as more and more dishes were brought in from the palace kitchens.

After the final service was over and the royals were merrily making fun of their mutual enemies, Treville slipped away, a little resentful of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to brood alone for the remainder of the night. His solitary hours had already been few and far between, but from now on they would be virtually non existent.

Pleased that all was quiet as he entered his private suite, he crept through to the inner chamber and after a quick wash in the bowl that had been left for him by the servants, he stripped off and put on his nightgown.

The bed was as comfortable as ever, the feather mattress and bolster far more of a luxury than his thirty years in the military had allowed him to become accustomed to, but for some reason he couldn’t settle, his mind drifting towards thoughts of Athos.

To all intents and purposes the man was unchanged. He was still irascible in nature, elegantly spoken with a twist of wry humour that had always brightened Treville’s hours. He still raised his eyebrow at things he felt need to question and smirked when something amused him, but the barrier of darkness that surrounded him seemed more intense than ever and those words, those horrible words he had written, continued to haunt Treville. 

He had intended to let Athos recover from his illness before confronting him with this, but he was certain now that to heal physically the man would need to harness his demons before any damage was done, and to do this he must talk. 

Slipping a robe over his nightgown and taking with him the stub of a candle, he made his way into the outer chamber of the solar.

“Athos,” he said, placing the candlestick on the table. “A word if I may.”

“It’s late. I’m exhausted.” The shape in the narrow cot didn’t move.

“But not asleep,” said Treville. “I’m not asking you to go training.”

“I imagine I’d prefer that,” said Athos.

In spite of himself Treville smiled. “You and I have been through much together,” he said. “I accepted you into the regiment and persuaded the king to offer you a commission without knowledge of your background. I’ve put up with your drunken behaviour and boorish attitude.”

“And in return I’ve given you nothing but complete loyalty.” Athos turned onto his back and stared up at him. “Say what you must and go.”

Treville faltered, trying to find the right words and also a suitable position from which to express them. Standing seemed far too superior and in the end he opted to perch on the edge of the narrow cot, hoping it would support their combined weight. “I know how low of spirits you’ve been since coming back from war,” he began, “and I hope, after all the years we’ve been comrades together, that you can trust me enough to talk as friends.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Athos which was followed by a long silence.

Treville decided to press on and continue his counselling mission. “To take command of a regiment at any time is a heavy load to bear, but to do so when the country is at war must be an even bigger responsibility.” Countless men had been killed during the past few years and Athos would have born each loss badly. Treville knew as fact that he had written personally to their families to express both sorrow and pride.

“I did what I could,” said Athos, his voice breaking a little. “If it was not enough for you then I can only apologise.”

Treville thought back and realised how his words could have been misconstrued. “No, Athos,” he said urgently, leaning forward. “You carried out your duties as captain admirably. I was talking of what this must have cost you.”

Athos sat up, and in the guttering light Treville was able to make out gaunt features and such an expression of defeat that it seemed the man was already half gone from this world.

“I lost everything because of you,” he said. “Now leave me be.” 

Treville longed to do as Athos had requested and run away from this awkward situation, but he couldn’t part company with so much unresolved. “Explain what you mean by that and I will,” he said in a steady voice.

“Very well,” said Athos, glaring at him. “If you must know, I had arranged to go to England with Anne.”

“You intended to leave the regiment for Milady de Winter?” said Treville, unable to hide his astonishment as the candle finally gave up the ghost. Husband and wife had worked well together under duress, but he’d never have guessed there was anything romantic rekindling between them. Athos was a true master at hiding his feelings.

“I did,” said Athos. “But then war was declared and you handed me command, despite the fact I didn’t want it. You drummed into me the need for loyalty at such a time and I was torn. When I eventually made the decision to say goodbye to Anne, it was too late.” A snarl of anger turned into a gulp of despair as he swallowed down years of pent up anguish.

Treville laid a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder to find him shuddering with misery. “I apologise,” he said quietly, “but I still maintain you made the right choice for your country, the regiment and for yourself.”

Blanketed by near darkness, Athos gave way to his misery and the gloom allowed Treville to pull him closer and comfort him. “There you go,” he murmured. “Let it all out.”

Lifeless, Athos collapsed back onto the bed and Treville went with him, soothing him with softly spoken words and caresses. He knew the connection between the erstwhile lovers had been a persistent one, that dreaded noose binding them together for better or worse, but it had done the man no favours and he was glad Milady had finally let go. He would help him get over this upset and found himself looking forward to a future in which he might finally meet Athos de La Fère, as opposed to the ghost that had inhabited this world in his place for the past decade, dutiful but hollow.

“That’s it,” he said as those ragged sobs lessened a little. “That’s my boy.” There was a hitched breath, followed by a silence and Treville panicked at this odd moment of intimacy between them, but Athos only held on tighter and curled around him, his face pressing against Treville’s neck, warm and damp, rough and bristly. “There’s a boy,” he murmured once again. “My own dear boy.”

Gaining something immeasurable from this, Treville relaxed into it until the unthinkable happened and his cock began to stiffen at the unexpected contact, growing to a full stand within seconds. What should he do? To move away would only alert Athos to his condition and so he remained where he was, comforting the man, gaining comfort from it himself despite the awkwardness of the situation. This simple act of holding Athos, however, proved too pleasurable for him to cope with. It could only end in embarrassment and he inched out of the cot, the wooden supports creaking under the strain. 

“Sleep now,” he said brusquely and then hurried back to the safety of his own room, trying to parse meaning from the grumble of discontentment that had been the sole reply to his words.

Back in his own bed, he lifted his nightshirt and brought himself to orgasm with a couple of rough strokes, spilling into a wash rag then wiping himself down and rinsing off, the icy water a penance for his sins. He did not think of the man bedded down in the other room. At least, that was what he told himself as he let his eyelids fall closed.


	3. Chapter 3

Olivier d’Athos, Comte de la Fère, valiant soldier and captain of the King’s Musketeers, was a long way from his old self and was currently withdrawn to the extreme, a listless patient, disengaged and disinterested in life. Porthos visited as often as he was able, not wanting to draw attention to the temporary resident in the palace, but desperate to ease his brother out of this well of despair. Aramis was a less frequent visitor and Treville could see how ashamed he still was of causing Athos so much distress at a time when he was already suffering.

“His misery is not your fault,” he said, clapping Aramis on the shoulder as he bumped into him at the doorway of his rooms, saddened to see a downhearted expression on the man’s face. “I am the cause of this. He’d intended to leave the regiment in order to be reunited with Milady. Apparently I thwarted that plan when I insisted he take over command in my place.”

Aramis looked relieved but somewhat bewildered at this news. “It’s not like Athos to hold a grudge,” he said thoughtfully. “I’d wager there is more to it.”

“I think you may be right,” mused Treville. “Though he’s unwilling to speak to me. Damn, I wish d’Artagnan was here.” The young man was a determined soul and had managed to connect with Athos where all others had failed. “Would it help if he returned to the garrison, do you think? Being bored at the palace is not the medicine he needs.”

“Being alone may end in tragedy,” replied Aramis under his breath. “And none of us would wish that to happen.”

Treville imagined a world without Athos and did not like the vision he was conjuring. “I’ll persist,” he said. “I’ll get him to open up, or die trying.” These words were followed by a wry smile and a second pat of Aramis’ shoulder.

“Please do not let it come to that,” replied Aramis and then let loose a sudden grin. “Though Athos is as stubborn as a mule and you may wish for death after much longer in his company.”

“Of that I am all too aware,” said Treville with a disgruntled sigh before entering his rooms, ready to do battle with the patient.

Athos was still in bed, but seemed more alert than usual, sitting up for a change and reading one of Treville’s manuals on the art of soldiering.

“Good afternoon,” said Treville as he sat at his desk and glared at the stack of papers in front of him. Clerical work was the one thing he’d hated when he was in command of the Musketeers, and as a minister the amount of bureaucracy had quadrupled, the only comfort being that he now had a secretary to assist him with the more arduous side of it. Pushing the documents aside, he stood once more and glared in turn at Athos who had ignored his pleasantry. “You are too far above us common men to bother with a civil response?”

Athos snorted. “Hardly,” he said, without looking up. “But it seemed unnecessary, as I have no idea what the weather is like to be able to determine whether the afternoon is good or otherwise.”

“Then maybe you should find out,” suggested Treville. “Get dressed and we’ll tack up a couple of horses then ride to the hunting grounds at Versailles.” He was excited at the idea of spending time with Athos in such free pursuits. “You’d be doing me a favour and saving me from my interminable duties here.”

Athos shook his head, becoming the stubborn mule that Aramis had mentioned minutes earlier. “No,” he said without even raising an excuse.

The man was impossible. Provoked into bad temper, Treville stalked the room, rearranging items on his shelves until, with a loud click, the entire piece of furniture swung open to reveal a narrow opening. “What the devil is this?” he said, peering inside the space.

“It is the cardinal's hidden cabinet,” said Athos, glancing upwards. 

“How do you know of it?” asked Treville as he picked up a lantern and explored. The chamber proved to be disappointingly empty. He’d hoped to find all of Richelieu’s secret plans and diaries secreted inside this place, although he supposed these would have been disposed of once they’d unearthed the man’s treacherous plot to rid himself of the queen.

“I assumed it was common knowledge,” said Athos, returning to his book.

With a harrumph of discontentment Treville sat back down at his desk. He was beginning to pity the regiment for having such an infuriating commander. Slitting open the seals and bindings of all the most recent communications, he sighed and concentrated instead on mundane matters of state. The hours passed by slowly and he was relieved when his servant knocked on the chamber door, bringing with him a tray of supper for Athos and reminding Treville that he had been requested to attend yet another damn banquet that evening.

“I would rather dine here with you,” he said to Athos, surveying the tempting array of roasted meats.

“Eat if you wish,” said Athos, pushing the plate away. He did however fill a flagon with claret.

Biting his tongue Treville strode out of the rooms, wondering why in God’s name he had landed himself with such an obstreperous house guest. Enough was enough; Athos clearly had no desire to regain either his health or his spirits, and the only way to rouse him from this morbid state would be to throw him headfirst back into regimental life.

All evening long Treville brooded, his mood so dark that the queen took him to one side and commented on it.

“Treville, you seem most unlike yourself. Is something bothering you? I hope you’re not thinking of leaving our service?”

Treville was certain that it would never be his choice to stay or to leave--a political life was one of indentured servitude--however he appreciated the fact that the queen was concerned enough to ask about his well-being. “Not at all, your Majesty,” he replied. “I do have something on my mind, but it’s personal in nature.”

“If there is any way I can be of assistance then please let me know,” said Anne, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

She was the one blessing in court: a truly good woman who was a kind ruler as well as a wonderful mother, spending as much time as possible with her child. “Thank you, your Majesty,” said Treville. “Matters will be cleared up in a day or so, I assure you.” Putting Athos out of sight and out of mind would be best for all of them. 

With dinner now over Treville returned to his suite, intent on setting his plan into action, but the sight that greeted him was something he would never forget. Partially dressed in braies and chemise, Athos was seated on the floor of the hidden chamber, a blade pressed against his wrist.

Treville took tentative steps forward, recognising immediately that the knife Athos held was the one that had been used to open letters earlier in the day. Cursing his own stupidity for leaving the dagger around, even more so for not realising how low Athos remained, he knelt next to the man and held out his hand.

“Pass it to me, son,” he said in that steady voice. In the lamplight he could see thin practice lines marking Athos’ wrist, leaking crimson droplets of blood. 

Athos shied away. “I kissed Anne here,” he said in a sombre voice, not quite present in the real world. “The poison had been used up and we wanted every part of each other. We’d talked enough to know that there was something worth saving.”

“Then go to her,” said Treville, snatching the knife from Athos and sliding it across the flagstones, out of harm's way. He shuffled closer, breathing in a smell of wine that was old and familiar and holding Athos’ hand in his, he turned it over to see the glistening streak of blood, sickened at what might have been here had he not returned when he did. “I can’t, in all conscience, stand by and watch what this is doing to you, my dear boy. Hand in your commission and go.”

“Go where?” asked Athos.

Treville was confused. “To England to be reunited with your wife. You need her far more than you need us.”

“Anne is dead,” said Athos and he withdrew from Treville and clasped his knees, head hanging low. “By my own hand.”

Treville had more sense than to believe such a story. “I doubt that.”

“It may as well have been,” said Athos, his face hidden. “I arrived back in Paris to find a letter waiting for me from Catherine de Garouville, my former betrothed, bragging about how she and a henchman had waylaid the carriage, then shot Anne and the driver in cold blood. They would have been long gone by the time I arrived to say goodbye.”

Treville was shocked. He’d seen venom on the woman’s face when they were in Piñon, but had no idea she could be murderous. “Are you certain she is not just saying so to get her comeuppance?”

“She explained to me, in great detail, where I could find the body,” said Athos, “but I didn’t need to do so in order to know that it was true. I’ve heard nothing from Anne since we parted, which is not like her.”

Treville could only agree. Milady de Winter and Athos were a passionate couple who gravitated together, even when their emotions were fueled by hatred.

Athos hung his head once more and it hurt Treville to see him so broken. “Let me see to this wound,” he said quietly, encouraging the man to his feet.

“I’d rather you let me die,” replied Athos, unusually docile in manner, as Treviile led the way to his own private chamber. “I don’t wish to live this life any longer.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Sit,” instructed Treville, collecting together bandages and brandy from the cabinet and watching, out of the corner of his eye, prepared to step in if Athos made a run for it. There was no knowing what the man might do in this desperate state, but as he slumped down onto the bed it seemed he was all out of fight.

Treville sat next to him, cleaning his wounds and then dressing them neatly. He’d got into the habit of tending to his own injuries rather than seeking out help, and years of doing so had taught him well. Whilst doing this, he considered what approach to take next. He would not willingly let Athos give up.

“You will not attempt such a thing again,” he said curtly. “Do so and I will have you locked away in the madhouse.”

Athos raised his head, a spark of defiance returning to those eyes.

“Do you understand me?” continued Treville.

“It is my life,” said Athos. “And I will dispose of it as I see fit. I’ve done all that you requested of me. I’ve _done_ my duty.”

Angry at this response, Treville closed the gap between them, grasping Athos by the shoulders and shaking him roughly. “Your duty is to us, your brothers, your comrades. Those who have fought by your side and followed your command. Those who have relied upon you and trusted in you. Those who have cared for you and loved you as if you were family. Your duty will never be over.”

Athos fought to get away, but Treville was determined to hold on and the two men fell back on the bed, struggling with each other. 

“You will not give up,” said Treville, clamping his arms around Athos’ narrow frame. “I will not give up on you.”

“You have no right to take this from me,” said Athos, through gritted teeth.

Frustrated that Athos would not concede to his wishes, Treville raised his hand and slapped him hard on the arse, repeating the action again and again until he could feel the heat of abused flesh radiating through the thin linen of the braies.

“No, please,” groaned Athos, collapsing against Treville, all the stuffing knocked out of him. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

Falling headlong into this role, Treville rocked Athos in miniscule movements. “Quiet now, I’ve got you,” he crooned, as they lay entangled on the bed. “There’s my boy.”

Common sense telling him that this must not go any further, Treville panicked at his unnatural response to having Athos pressed tightly against him, but this time, face to face, he knew that he was not alone in his needs. Too far gone to do anything but give in to this, he stroked Athos’ back and continued to rock against him, sighing with pleasure when Athos responded, body tilting to meet his. Caught up in a dangerous game, where nothing mattered but the scent of wine and sweat and the friction burn of cock grinding against cock, Treville longed for the impossible, taking this further in his mind to a place where they were naked and free to do as they wished.

“Papa!” 

The cry was both one of ecstasy and despair and Treville succumbed to a similar confusion, pulling Athos hard against him, hips thrusting, as he came into his clothes. “My own boy,” he murmured over and over again, holding Athos tightly. “I’ll never let you go.”

The meltdown afterwards was terrible. They’d done a dreadful thing together, twisting an honest friendship into something warped and sinful, and yet Treville couldn't deny that being protector and lover to Athos had tapped into a seam inside him, something ungodly but nonetheless beautiful.

“I must go,” said Athos, sitting up abruptly and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “What we did here was wrong in so many ways and it must not be repeated.”

“Then I suggest you never threaten to take your own life again,” said Treville without rancour. “Know that I will do anything it takes to keep you safe.”

“This has not helped matters.”

“It was comfort, Athos. Do not read anything more into it. We all need a little comfort every now and then. Even hard-nosed soldiers.” Treville sat up and began to remove his clothes. He was still wearing his ministerial robes and was somewhat ashamed at having soiled them in such a way. Hopefully the mess would come clean in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

There was no more talk of suicide and thankfully no mention of that bizarre sexual liaison, but Athos remained unchanged, still deathly quiet, unwilling to leave his current sanctuary and return to the world.

Taking matters into his own hands Treville decided to help Athos lay his past to rest, a thing long overdue. Still regarded as one of the regiment’s own, no one commented as he dismounted at the gates and handed his horse to one of the stable lads. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, he then entered his old quarters and looked around him in dismay. Porthos had described the chaos well. Athos’ rooms at the garrison were an indescribable mess. Treville muttered to himself, remembering how neat they had been when he was in residence, but then began to add to the untidiness as he searched through piles of paperwork.

“If I might ask, sir, what are you up to?” Porthos was framed in the doorway, watching the goings on with intrigue.

“I’m looking for a letter from Athos’ former fiancée, Catherine de Garouville,“ explained Treville as he hunted high and low. Perhaps the man had burned it in anger.

Walking over to the desk, Porthos reached to the side of the plinth and, with a loud click, a secret drawer sprang open. “He keeps his personal papers in here.”

Treville was beginning to wonder how many more mysteries he had been oblivious to as he wandered through life. “How did you know of this and not I?” he muttered, returning to sit at the desk.

“I had a misspent youth,” grinned Porthos. “Thievery gives you a nose for these kind of things.”

Treville harrumphed in his customary way and removed the handful of documents from the drawer. There were letters pertaining to Athos’ title and his commission into the Musketeers. There was also a last will and testament which left his belongings to be shared out amongst his friends. At the very bottom of the pile was the letter from Mme de Garouville.

“What’s all that about?” said Porthos as Treville began to read the lengthy missive which was full of bile and gloating in its language.

“The reason for Athos’ misery,” explained Treville with a glance upwards. Should he let Porthos in on this secret or not? It seemed only fair that he did. The big soldier had been worrying himself sick over his friend. “The woman claims that she killed Athos’ wife and took her body to the family vault at La Fère.” 

“Christ in Heaven,” said Porthos. “So Milady de Winter’s dead. No wonder Athos is such a mess. Why the bloody hell didn’t he say something?” He then groaned in despair. “He was going to, wasn’t he? That’s what he came to talk to me about that night. The poor bastard.” Porthos slammed his fist down on the desk.

“You don’t doubt it’s true?” questioned Treville as he scanned the letter once more.

“I never thought about it before, but she’d have been here if it wasn’t,” said Porthos. “Sniping at him. Telling him of her new lovers. Making him feel bad for choosing France over her. She’s dead all right and he needs to get over this before he does something stupid and joins her there.”

Treville agreed with the short summary and knew that the only way for Athos to achieve some kind of peace was to confront this matter head on. “I’m taking him to La Fère,” he said. “Whether he likes it or not.”

“He won’t,” stated Porthos grimly. “I wish you all the luck in the world but I wouldn’t be in your shoes when he finds out. He’s got one hell of a temper on him.”

To spark Athos’ fiery temperament would be a blessing, thought Treville as he rode back to the palace. Anything would be better than the listless man who currently occupied the outer chamber of his solar. The only time he’d seemed alive since being home from Spain was when he’d come undone in Treville's arms.

*

“I’m not your lackey, Minister,” grumbled Athos as he followed Treville to the waiting carriage.

“As if anyone would employ you as manservant,” said Treville with a wry twist of the lips. “Tidiness is not one of your greatest attributes.”

It was a relief to see that familiar smirk playing beneath schooled features. 

“Then why am I here?” asked Athos. “I doubt it’s because of my pleasant company.”

“Perhaps I require your skills as a bodyguard,” said Treville as he joined Athos inside the carriage and the coachman headed out of the palace grounds. It was not an absolute lie; he was merely offering it up as a suggestion.

Athos snorted and glared out of the window for an hour or so until speaking once more. “If I am well enough for this then I am well enough to resume my duties back at the garrison. I am fully aware that there is no quarantine in place.”

Treville decided to take the bull by the proverbial horns. “I cannot let you resume command of the regiment until I am certain that you are of sound mind.”

“And so you’re intent on frog marching me to La Fère in order that I can confront my gruesome past.” Athos shook his head in resignation. “I’m neither blind, nor am I a fool, Treville,” he said, his voice free of emotion. “But I would like to know why you consider this more important than matters of state. You should concern yourself with France and leave me to make my own decisions.”

“I would do exactly that if the choices you made regarding yourself weren’t always such negative ones,” snapped Treville.

“Free will allows me to decide upon any path I wish to take.”

Reaching out, Treville gripped Athos by the hand. “A solitary man who has rejected God and family does indeed have the right to do just that.”

“God is nothing but a lie,” replied Athos in a bleak voice. “And my family are all dead.”

“Whether or not to believe in a higher power is entirely up to you,” said Treville. The carriage hit a rut in the track and threw the two men against one another. “But can you truly deny your brothers?” he continued, his hand coming to rest on Athos’ knee.

“My _brother_ was killed by a knife to his heart,” said Athos, not shying away from the contact as Treville had expected he would. “I believe now he deserved his sudden end.”

“And what of the soldiers who have fought at your side? Who have followed your orders to the the last? Who have gone against them in order to keep you safe? Do you deny them?”

“They do not need me,” said Athos. “D’Artagnan is a family man and Porthos and Aramis will take care of each other to the end.”

God, but he was undoubtedly the most stubborn brute on God’s green earth. As the carriage pulled into a rest stop to allow both coachman and horses a breather, Treville got out to stretch his legs and soothe his fractious mood, only to discover that he was not alone.

“I could do with a brandy,” said Athos, by way of explanation.

The words were accompanied by a tug at the corner of that mouth, an expression which Treville had grown inordinately fond of over the years.

“I imagine you could also after wrestling with me and my temper for hours on end,” continued Athos, still smirking at him.

Treville laughed genuinely. “I’d class you as sullen rather than bad tempered,” he said when he had recovered from the surprise change of mood. “Although you’re not wrong about driving me to drink.”

“Then, to make up for it, I’ll treat you to luncheon,” said Athos, his arm draped around Treville's shoulders as he led the way to the entrance of the tavern, an establishment he was most likely familiar with after so many years as a drunkard.

The landlady of the hostelry provided them with a meal of bread and cheese which they washed down with flagons of ale and cognac. It was simple fare, but good and wholesome and both men tucked in with relish.

“How far to La Fère?” asked Treville as he studied Athos across the table, pleased to see some much needed vitality returning to the man.

“I’d estimate another half day of travel,” said Athos. “We should have taken horses rather than the carriage. It would have been far quicker.”

“But then my deception would have failed from the start,” replied Treville.

“It did anyway.” Athos flashed him something that was close to a smile. “I take it there is little going on at the palace right now if I am your most important project?”

Hit by the sudden truth that Athos would always be his priority, whatever else might be happening in the world, Treville was shocked into a moment’s silence. “We must return to the coach,” he said eventually in a gruff voice, deflecting the subject of the conversation away from himself. “The driver will be waiting for us.” He hadn’t even bothered to ask the man’s name, he realised with a jolt of surprise. He would never have been so remiss in the past. Government did not suit him.

From that point onwards their journey progressed slowly, the weather growing ever more blustery and damp as they headed north. It had never occurred to Treville that they might require accommodation during this trip, and to take his mind off this ridiculous lack of planning, he decided to crack on and unravel the mysteries of the man sitting opposite him.

“Tell me about Milady,” he said. “You were in love with her for a long time.”

Athos frowned at him in a confrontational manner, but then his eyes softened as the memories took over.

“I was,” he admitted, “and I now believe that she loved me back equally.” That mellifluous voice was layered with quiet pain. “I first met her when I was returning from the solicitor’s office in Paris where I had been finalising the details of my father’s estate, following his death overseas. She was picking forget-me-nots in the meadow just outside Piñon and the blue of the flowers matched her dress. It was a serene picture and on impulse I dismounted to talk to her. I then invited her back to La Fère and Catherine was furious with me for bringing a stranger into the house. She swore that Anne was trying to ensnare me into marriage, but that was never the case.”

He fell silent and Treville allowed him a moment to collect himself, imagining the young comte, newly in charge of his lands and ready to break free from his father’s control. Marrying Milady may have been an act of rebellion, but that didn’t mean it was anything but a genuine romance.

“What went wrong?” he asked.

Athos clenched his hands into fists. “We’d been wed almost a year, during which Catherine and Thomas spent the entire time plotting against Anne. They’d unearthed details of her past life as a thief, but I didn’t give a damn and told them exactly what I thought of their interference in matters that didn’t concern them. I knew that Catherine was furious with me for breaking our engagement, but Thomas had other more sinister reasons for meddling. I can picture him now, his eyes fixed on Anne constantly: at the dinner table, in the morning room, everywhere she went. I suspect now he’d even been spying on us when we were intimate together. At the time I thought nothing of his interest. I naïvely assumed it was a morbid fascination he had for his unwanted new sister-in-law and that he’d soon get over it.”

“And?” prompted Treville when the words once again dried up.

“He never had the opportunity to do so,” said Athos. “It was a summer morning and Anne and I had spent the early hours outside as we always did when the weather was so beautiful.” He smiled, full of nostalgia despite everything. “After returning from our walk, I had some business to attend to and was in the study going through papers when I heard a scream. I ran upstairs to find Thomas dead on the floor with Anne standing over him holding a knife. She confessed to his murder so what else was I supposed to do but sentence her to death?” He sank into himself. “I know now that I made the wrong decision.”

“Milady forgave you for what you did,” said Treville.

Athos nodded. “She did,” he agreed. “But nothing could ever placate Catherine. From the moment she found out Anne was still alive she became mad with a need for vengeance.” He looked across at Treville. “I should have killed her when I had the opportunity.”

Treville shook his head. “Then you would have been guilty of taking an innocent woman’s life. Could you have coped with that?”

“I doubt it,” said Athos ruefully, unlatching the canteen from his belt and removing the stopper. “I certainly couldn’t before.” Taking a deep swig of wine he then passed it over to Treville. “Talking has helped.”

It was not precisely a thank you, but it was the closest Athos had ever come to one as far as intrusions into his personal life were concerned, and Treville felt vindicated at forcing the man into retracing his past. He drank deeply from the canteen and then handed it back, a frisson of excitement passing fleetingly through him as he watched Athos’ lips close around the mouth of the container that his own had so recently vacated. 

The sun was low in the sky when they arrived at the shell of what had once been the Chateau La Fère.

“Go back to the hostelry,” Treville told the coachman. “I’ll send message when we require you again.” As the carriage departed, he then looked up at the blackened exterior of the building. “Is there anything left intact here?” he asked.

“There is actually,” said Athos. “The main rooms were destroyed, but the rest of the house was only smoke damaged. Catherine has made her home in the servants’ quarters.”

“Then let’s see if she is in,” said Treville, pushing his way through the broken door.

With a deep sigh Athos followed him inside, muttering under his breath. “If we must,” were the only words that Treville caught and they were said with such childlike petulance that they instinctively brought a smile to his face.

Mme de Garouville was indeed in residence, fussing over the cooking pots in the kitchen. She was entirely unfazed at seeing them and greeted Athos matter-of-factly, brushing a dusting of flour from her skirts. “So, you have finally come to mourn the bitch’s death, Athos. I hope her decaying corpse will bring you as much relief as it has brought me.”

“Do not bother speaking to me,” said Athos and taking an oddly fashioned device from the sideboard drawer, he slotted the key into its counterpart hole to reveal a hidden doorway. Treville followed him down through locked gateways, into a vast cave of a cellar, the light from the swaying lantern that Athos held aloft, casting elongated shadows around them.

“D'Artagnan told me about this place,” murmured Treville, but Athos was too preoccupied to participate in conversation and had come to a sudden halt in front of a coffin, upon which was lying a skeleton, small boned and clothed in familiar finery.

“I did not allow her a way to God,” came Catherine’s voice from the stairway, full of acid bitterness. “I decided instead to let her putrefy over Thomas’ body.”

“As she would have wanted it,” responded Athos. “Her rot disturbing her rapist’s rest.”

Catherine snorted in disgust. “You’re more of a fool than I thought if you still believe that lie.”

“It was not a lie,” said Athos, standing, staring. “I know when she was lying.”

“Rubbish,” spat Catherine. “However, thanks to my actions, she will not be deceiving you ever again.”

“Go,” said Athos, turning to face her. “Pack your things and leave my house. I will inform the mayor of Piñon that you are to be arrested for murder if you ever set foot in these lands again. Do not doubt what I say, madam, for I do not lie.”

Catherine had clearly never considered eviction to be a possibility and had not thought past the rush she would get from torturing her former betrothed with the evidence of her cruelty. “You cannot drive me from here,” she said, an angry tear sliding down her cheek.

“I can and I will,” said Athos. “Take nothing with you but a horse.” Approaching Catherine, he ripped the necklace from about her neck and threw it into the depths of the vault. “From now on, you’ll have to rely on your twisted nature to get by. My charity towards you has ended.”

“Do not do this to me,” she pleaded.

“Go,” said Athos. “Or I’ll hang you myself.” Turning away, he picked up Milady’s fragile remains then carried his wife out of the cellar with Treville following as escort, holding the lantern, fiercely impressed at how well Athos was handling the situation.

Mme de Garouville pushed past the small cortege, slipping a cloak around her shoulders as she reached the kitchen and then, in defiance of Athos’ wishes, she took a pair of pistols from the sideboard, loaded them and tucked them into her belt. “I’ll not ride to Paris without some form of protection,” she said as she marched out of the house in the direction of the stables.

“I’ve known her since we were children,” said Athos as he watched from the doorway. “And yet we are, and always have been, strangers to each other.”

A connection could not forcibly be made, thought Treville. And neither could it be undone. He studied Athos in the half light, knowing now that any further attempt to deny his feelings for the man would be futile.

With Catherine de Garouville a fading blur on the horizon, Athos fetched spades from one of the outbuildings and handed them to Treville. He then collected Milady’s body from where she was resting in the long meadow grass. “She’ll be buried in the light,” he said, walking slowly up the hill.

Once at the summit, both men began to dig her grave, their efforts lit only by the cool rays of the moon.

“Would she not want a funeral mass said over her?” suggested Treville as he wiped away mud and sweat from his brow. Leaning on the handle of his spade, he looked down at the body of the woman who had once caused him so much trouble. He would mourn her for Athos’ sake.

“Anne knew there was no God,” said Athos as he climbed down into the freshly dug pit. “Pass her to me,” he continued. “I’ll wager you never imagined that laying my demons to rest would be quite so literal.”

As Treville handed over the desiccated remains he felt angry that someone so visceral and full of life should have come to this. “She was no demon,” he replied. “She showed her true colours and came good in the end.”

“She did,” agreed Athos as he laid out her body and pushed himself free of the earth.

“Listen to me, Athos,” said Treville whilst they were shovelling up soil and filling in the grave. “I do _not_ wish to be doing the same for you anytime soon.”

“You won’t,” said Athos. “I’ve made my decision. I’ll be ready to take up my duties as captain as soon as we return to Paris.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” replied Treville, trusting these words implicitly. Athos was right. He didn’t tell lies.


	6. Chapter 6

Rescuing a blackened loaf from the tiny oven set in the wall of the fireplace, Treville then dished up vegetable stew into bowls. “I can honestly say that I am grateful to Mme de Garouville for providing us with such tasty fare.”

“Catherine would have loathed any time spent in the kitchen,” said Athos. “She considered herself above such menial tasks.”

“Very different to you then,” observed Treville as he slathered butter over doorsteps of bread.

“I assure you, I’m no cook.”

Athos was smiling at him, for the first time ever perhaps, and it was a delight to see those eyes twinkling merrily.

“Maybe not,” replied Treville. “But you’d turn your hand to it without complaint if needs be.”

“Let us pray that the occasion will never arise.”

Laughing together was yet another new experience.

After this congenial midnight feast, they then took to the bed that had been set up at the far end of the kitchen--most likely for reasons of warmth--and despite a few worries to do with the necessity of sharing, Treville surprised himself and fell immediately into a sound and dream free sleep. 

He awoke several hours later, according to his timepiece, alone and momentarily bewildered, with no idea of where he was. Gradually his errant senses returned and he patted the sheet next to him to see if the nest of material was still warm. The answer was no and with a niggle of fear playing at the edges of his mind, he leapt out of bed, relieving himself in the chamber pot and then pulling on boots and cloak.

He found Athos surveying the wreckage of what once must have been an impressive room.

“Anne did this,” the man said bleakly. “She came to La Fère in order to cover her tracks, firstly by killing the blacksmith from Piñon who had helped her escape execution. She was then in the midst of turning this place into a pyre when she discovered my presence here.” He paused as he was wont to do when telling their complicated story. “I was badly drunk. I thought I must be hallucinating and conjuring up her ghost, but as she held a knife to my throat I could feel the coldness of the blade and knew that it was real. I begged her to end my suffering. I don't know what would have happened if d’Artagnan hadn’t appeared when he did.”

“She would not have killed you,” Treville assured him. It was an incontestable truth. Milady had loved Athos deeply. It was clear to all around them. She’d even admitted to grieving when they had duped her into believing that d'Artagnan had killed her husband.

“We’ll never know,” said Athos. “She was different back then. My actions had turned her into a monster and she hated the both of us for making her Richelieu’s weapon. Later on, she wanted a chance to change her ways, but Catherine stole that away from her.”

“Show me the rest of the house,” said Treville, diverting the man away from this fit of melancholy.

Athos nodded and led the way through room after room. Most of them were, as he had described previously, grimy from smoke but undamaged. Sooty shrouds covered much of the furniture and Treville wondered silently if the house would ever be restored to its former glory. He suspected that it was highly unlikely.

“Perhaps I should hand this place over to the people of Piñon,” said Athos, reading Treville’s mind.

“I doubt they’d know what to do with it,” replied Treville.

“They could work the land,” said Athos.

“They have enough of that already,” smiled Treville. “Keep it for yourself. You’ll need somewhere to live when you retire from the military.”

“I don’t plan on making old bones,” stated Athos.

The words themselves were sad, but they lacked that morbid quality that had been present of late and Treville wasn’t unduly perturbed by them. “Then leave the place to Aramis and Porthos,” he suggested. “They’ll be needing a bolthole when the time comes. In fact, why don’t you give it to them now rather than let it fall into a worse state of repair.”

“I could do that,” said Athos, as full of excitement as when he had decided to hand over his lands to be run as a collective. “I believe I shall.”

There was just one out of the way room still to be explored on the ground floor and Athos hesitated as his fingers closed around the ornate door handle. 

Assuming it was yet another component in this whirligig of a love story, Treville encouraged Athos to enter by placing a palm to the small of his back. “Get a move on, lad,” he cajoled. “We haven’t all day.”

They did, in actual fact, have all day, all evening, and as many after that as they wished to take, but Treville was impatient to bring this sad tale to its natural end.

The room was relatively small, in comparison to the others, and contained an intricately carved desk and two chairs which were bridged by the expanse of walnut. The three items of furniture were not covered by dust sheets, nor were they spoiled by soot. The only thing marring them was a thick coating of dust.

“My father’s study,” explained Athos.

It must have been Athos’ own work space for well over a year, before that destructive day in the summertime brought things to a sudden end, and Treville found it strange that the man chose to describe it as belonging to his father rather than himself. 

Athos caught him looking around at the empty rows of shelving built into the walls. “He was not a reader,” he explained. “I did wonder for a while whether he was illiterate, but I suspect he simply found books a complete waste of time. The sole purpose of this room was to house his desk, from where he would place his seal and sign his name as necessary.”

“It seems as if he was a stranger to you,” observed Treville. 

“He was a military man,” said Athos. “He was away most of the time, either abroad or in court. After my mother died he had no real urge to come here, except to make a dutiful appearance once in a while.” Athos cocked his head to one side. “He wasn’t a cruel parent, by any means, but he was as disinterested in his children as he was in the idea of literature. The only time he paid attention to us was when we misbehaved.”

Treville’s own childhood had been tough going, but not lacking in love. He was saddened at the thought of these two boys growing up motherless and with an absentee father to boot.

“I craved his attention so much that I would misbehave deliberately when he was at home, in order to spend more time with him.” Athos opened one of the desk drawers and extracted a small willow switch. “He’d use this on me. Never too firmly, just enough to sting and help me remember. To make me more like my brother.” He tested the switch against the palm of his hand and then glanced at Treville. 

The look was compelling in its shyness and Treville had an idea of what Athos was trying to say, but rather than interrupt the flow, he let the man come to his own conclusion.

“I believe I am at fault for what happened between you and I,” continued Athos, his gaze now fixed firmly on the stripped branch of willow which was still lying across his skin.

“There is no need for blame,” said Treville in that steady voice, using it to gentle Athos as he grew as skittish as a young colt. “If it helped in any way.”

“In some ways it did,” said Athos. “But in others-”

He was shivering, or was it trembling? Treville couldn’t quite tell. “It helped me too,” he confessed. Their sex had fulfilled some deep seated, long hidden need inside him, but it had left him with an urge to touch Athos, to hold onto him, which had augmented rather than diminished and was increasing on a daily basis. He was surprised that he’d managed to restrain himself when they shared a bed last night. It was only tiredness had that had held his rampant libido at bay.

The next action in this strange chapter of theirs was to be a turning point -- a point of no return. His head down, those huge eyes fixed on the floor, Athos stretched out his arm and handed Treville the switch.

Blood thundered up and down the full length of Treville’s body. There was a clattering in his ears and his words, once they had returned to him, seemed shockingly loud. “How do you need this?” he asked in a calm voice that belied his emotional turmoil.

Silently, Athos turned away from Treville removing his jacket then unbuttoning and unlacing breeches and braies. “When I was young,” he said softly. “He’d sit in the chair over there and take me across his knee, either to spank me or use the switch on me.”

Treville grew to full erection as he imagined Athos, as he was now, sprawled out across his own lap. He gulped as the man pulled down his clothing and leant forward across the desk.

“As I grew older this was the most common position from which I received my punishment.”

He said the final word as if it were a gift rather than discipline and this was erotic enough in itself, but then Treville focused on the rounded swell of Athos’ buttocks and stared in wonder at the pale skin, divided by that enticing cleft. Testing the switch against his own palm, he wielded it and then brought it down firmly.

“How many strokes?” he asked, his voice pitching with excitement.

“Ten was the usual amount,” said Athos. His voice was slightly more aristocratic than usual, his words more formal, and this heightened Treville’s excitement until he was a raging inferno of desire. “Ten of the best to mend my ways.”

Treville had no idea how he’d get through this without making a mess of his small clothes. Employing a will of iron, he raised the switch and brought it down hard across Athos’ bottom. The hitched breath of pleasure only increased his arousal and the sigh of relief that followed the second was almost unbearable. Once the final stroke of the willow had been dealt, Athos groaned and then turned back around to face Treville, his cheeks a rosy red and his eyes wide. 

Treville had always considered him to be a handsome man, albeit in an unusual way, but here, now, he was so much more than that, wanton and needy, his erect cock a sight to behold. The skin had rolled back on its own accord, the head glistening with fluid, a trail of it leaking from the slit and then running down the shaft in a constant rivulet of arousal.

“Afterwards,” murmured Athos, his voice tinged with an element of desperation. “He would comfort me.”

Treville opened his arms and Athos tumbled into them, trembling more than ever as Treville held on tightly. He soothed that abused backside with tender touches, and when hands scrabbled to free him from his own clothing, he did not put up any resistance.

Bare flesh collided, pressing and rubbing together, and that strange concoction of familial care and sinful desire expanded in Treville until he could contain himself no longer. Petting Athos, holding him close, he spent in wave after wave of something that was as emotional as it was physical. “My beautiful boy,” he muttered, his breath hot against Athos’ skin as he crushed that partially clothed body to him.

“Papa, please.” The words were an accompaniment to Athos’ climax and Treville gripped him tightly and stroked him off. He wanted nothing more than to pull back a little and watch that pretty cock release its seed, but now was not the time and instead they remained locked together in this museum of a room that contained an archive of bizarre secrets.

“I think, perhaps, we’re in danger of becoming a Greek tragedy,” smirked Athos, once he had recovered his senses. 

Treville looked him over, letting his hand come to rest on a shoulder. Athos was red faced with embarrassment, but the hint of a smile indicated that he was clearly not as regretful as he had been the first time this had happened between them. This was something he had engineered, something he had asked for, and for all the wrongness, it seemed to Treville that Athos couldn’t be happier. Nor, it had to be said, could he.

“Not so tragic,” he smiled, stroking a lock of hair away from Athos’ forehead. “But I agree that there will inevitably be something pertaining to our situation in the classics.”

“I ought to be more ashamed than I am,” said Athos, still blushing a little as he released himself unwillingly from Treville’s sticky, rather sweaty embrace, then used his scarf to wipe them clean of their spendings.

“Why?” questioned Treville as he took pleasure from having Athos tend to him. “We are neither of us cheating on lovers, nor are we harming anyone in what we do. So, as far as I can see, there is little reason for either shame or blame.”

Athos let out a huff of laughter and looked up from his task. “I hope you are right, Treville. I have to admit to a certain relief that I do not shoulder the burden of believing in God.”

Treville had never actively cast off religion, but seldom in his life had he felt the need for it. During times of war, his faith lay firmly at the feet of his soldiers and he had never sought guidance from anyone other than his superiors and his lieutenants. After Savoy, he had felt the presence of something sinister working against him, yet it could never be described as spiritual in nature. No, that debacle was all to do with humankind.

“I’m a simple man. i believe in the concepts of good and evil and I know that what we do together is neither of those things,” he said as he tidied his clothes. “It is merely a case of comfort and release.”

“I wish I was blessed with your pragmatic nature,” said Athos, doing up the buttons on his breeches, but letting his chemise hang free. As dressed as he intended to be for the rest of the day, he allowed his eyes to linger and then darted forward to fix his lips against Treville's for a single kiss that was brief but deliberate. “Thank you.”

It was the first time that Treville had been kissed since he was an ordinary soldier in the ranks. An understanding of his preferences had led him to make a decision, in his late twenties, that it would be best to cast aside any romantic notions and concentrate instead on his career. Sex could be dealt with quite easily with his own hand and he could think of no better company than that of his fellow soldiers. But then Athos had come along, with his broken heart and beautiful visage, and had been burrowing his way beneath those barricades ever since. Athos, with his world weary attitude and endless desire for punishment, was a constant problem. He could so easily fall for the man and, in truth, he probably already had, many years ago.

Following this moment of soul searching, he reached out to ruffle that crop of shaggy hair. “I would also suggest that you not give this house away quite yet.” He grinned rakishly. “We may be needing it as our own bolthole in the future.”

There was little point in denying the intense attraction between them, and so it seemed redundant to pretend that this would never happen again. He’d spilled three times over Athos in recent days and, in all honesty, it had happened on many other occasions, his mind often filled with a flurry of images, as he brought himself to orgasm, relishing memories of the soldier working hard at the training mats. 

“Then if it is to be ours I must show you the rest of the place,” said Athos, full of a new enthusiasm for life as he slipped on his leather doublet and set off at a determined pace. “Come on, Treville. There is much to see.” He looked back over his shoulder, a genuine smile on his face. “This was once a paradise.”

“Then we shall make it so again,” said Treville, catching up to him and clapping an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, at absolute ease for the first time in years.

After exploring the house fully, they then went outside to view the rest of the estate. A lengthy trek around the grounds culminated in a second journey to the top of the hill which overlooked the chateau, where Athos laid a small bunch of blue flowers on top of that solitary mound of earth.

“I should mark her grave,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll have the carpenter in Piñon make up a cross.”

“That would be a good idea,” said Treville, taking some much needed time to catch his breath and collapsing onto the ground, he leant wearily against the gnarled trunk of the tree.

“Have I tired you out?” asked Athos.

“I have well over a dozen years on you.” Treville smiled up at him, shielding the sun from his eyes with the flat of a hand. “Plus a courtier’s life is more to do with eating and drinking than it is exercise. I fear that I’m going to seed.” 

“Then I must help rectify that as I need you to stay fit. From now onwards, I shall be in personal charge of your training.” Contrary to his words, Athos flopped down and spread out next to him, at peace with life, and the two men basked together in the warmth of the sun. “This is where I had her hanged,” he continued after several quiet minutes had elapsed, his voice turning sombre. “We’d made love in these fields a hundred times or more, but it was only when I heard the snap of the rope and the creak of the branch that I truly realised how much I truly loved her. Even then I could have ridden back to save her, but, like a coward, I chose to run away from my crime.”

“It was not a crime,” said Treville, glancing sideways.

“Oh, it was,” said Athos with a wry twist of his lips. “I was in too much of a hurry to be seen to do the right thing and live up to my honourable name. I was the law and as such wielded all the power.”

“And since then you have more than made up for it by years of military service,” said Treville. “You’ve also done a remarkable thing with that privileged status of yours,” he added, remembering the joy on the faces of those villagers when they were told that they would no longer be at the beck and call of a liege lord. “In all my days, I’ve never heard of a nobleman giving away his lands to the people.”

Athos discarded the compliment with a wave of his hand. “Will you do the same when you are handed your baronetcy or dukedom? Whatever honour the king has in mind for you.”

Treville shrugged. Being granted a title at retirement was an inevitability -- that’s if he didn’t die first from sheer boredom. “Perhaps all that newfound power will go to my head and I’ll become a tyrannical leader.”

“Without doubt,” laughed Athos. “You ruled the Musketeers with a rod of iron when you were in command.”

“Utter rot,” retorted Treville. “I never stood a chance of controlling you inseparable idiots. You were as wilful as they come.” His dear boys. How he adored them for their spirit.

Athos was the prettiest of pictures lying there in the dappled sunlight, laughing up at him, in total disarray with his hair unkempt and his shirt unlaced. Entranced, Treville then made his own life altering decision, just as Athos had done earlier when he’d handed him the switch. Leaning over, he pressed his mouth firmly against Athos’ lips, tracing the outline, touching on that silvery scar and then letting his tongue drift inwards as Athos opened to him with a soft grunt of pleasure.

This was, in essence, the moment he succumbed to his feelings and accepted Athos as a lover, something that was unbelievably rash but had become as vital to him as breathing. Their kisses were much like the air, wonderfully fresh and not tainted, as they could have been, by either illness, wine or bad digestion. They slid together into a supine position and then turned to each other, eager to reconnect, mouth to mouth.

“Athos,” muttered Treville as they drew apart for a moment. “What are we doing?”

“Harming no one, remember?” Athos’ lips were stung by kisses, his demeanour as gentle as Treville had ever known him. “Come here,” he insisted, a smile on his face as he reached out for more.

Morning rolled into afternoon, and still they devoured each other, hot and hard, ready for sex, yet both of them intent on holding out until they returned to the sanctuary of the house. Besides which, Treville was thoroughly enjoying the innocence of this age old precursor to lovemaking. It was something he’d done so rarely in his life, stealing a few closed mouth pecks from the farm girls in Gascony when he was young, then joining the army as a boy soldier and finding out the true nature of his interests. From that moment on, sex had become a hurried, secretive thing, carried out under blankets in the barrack rooms or bent over wine barrels in the stores. There had been no time for long and leisurely sessions of kissing.

For Athos it was different. His stories about Milady told of what a romantic he was and also how much he enjoyed the physical pleasure of making love: outdoors, indoors, wherever the mood took him. Treville imagined that young nobleman sprawled out in the long grass, carefree, breathless from laughter, and looking down at him now, discovered that the distance between comte and captain was not as great as he had once thought. Athos longed to love and be loved in return -- whether it was father, wife or commander who was the recipient, he was always eager to give.


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m a lucky man,” said Athos as they tucked into the meal Treville had prepared from a pantry of cured game and root vegetables.

“Lucky that, unlike you, I know how to boil a turnip?” Treville speared a portion of salted venison on the end of his knife then smiled at Athos across the worn kitchen table.

“Lucky you are willing to look after me,” replied Athos, honesty reflected in his eyes.

“I’m looking forward to doing much more of that,” said Treville, a fire in his belly from more than the cognac they had been drinking. “Let’s clear away and take the remains of this bottle to bed.”

The alcohol would hopefully relax them enough to enjoy their first true night together. They’d both been excitable since their return to the house, and yet equally had been living on frayed nerves. Athos, understandably, carried the burden of his memories here more than any place else, whilst Treville was still anxious about taking his subordinate as a lover. He may not be captain of the Musketeers any longer, but he was still Athos’ superior. 

In addition to this, there were also the mechanics of sex to think about. His own love life had been infrequent and neglected, to say the least, and when it _had_ happened it had been a sudden and furious thing with no foreplay whatsoever. He’d never learned the art of making love to a man, although he was aware, from raids on some of the more exotic brothels in Paris in his younger days as a soldier, that it could be a long drawn out process.

“I want to please you,” he said under his breath as they got ready for the night.

“The plan is to please each other,” said Athos with an extraordinarily beautiful smile. Curling an arm around Treville’s waist he took his mouth in a kiss that was loaded with promise. “Now, to bed.”

The few steps across the room lasted much longer than they would normally have done, interspersed as they were with kissing and undressing. Down to just their small clothes they fell into the feather bed, laughing with each other, the bottle of brandy falling unwanted to the floor whilst Athos waved another, smaller bottle in Treville's face.

“It’s oil from the pantry,” he said, placing it on the table carefully. “We may have need of it later.”

Athos was more worldly wise than he, thought Treville as he took in eyes that were sparkling with mischievous delight. “You’ve done this before?” he asked.

“Never,” said Athos softly. “Though I’ve wanted to for an age.”

“With whom?” said Treville. Perhaps he truly was a replacement for the strict disciplinarian father that Athos had needed to impress so much.

“You,” said Athos. “Only ever you. The thoughts were wrong and I pushed them aside, rejecting that part of me. Then, when it happened between us and it was so...”

“Unusual?” supplied Treville.

Athos shook his head and laughed. “Filthy,” he grinned. “Dirty in a truly fulfilling way is how I would best describe it,” to which Treville nodded vehemently.

He was happy to be in this man’s company, whatever they were doing together. 

“I tried to ignore my feelings for you,” continued Athos.

“And yet you had no intention of leaving my rooms,” smiled Treville as he encouraged Athos to lay beside him on the bed.

“Only in one final way,” replied Athos, all of a sudden wracked with anxiety. “My bid to end things was at a moment of true despair. I’d lost Anne for good and I knew there was no hope of you and I having the kind of relationship I craved. I couldn’t bear the idea of being alone any longer.”

“There is every hope for us being together, as long as we are careful,” said Treville, taking hold of Athos hand and kissing each knuckle. “And you will never be alone again, my dearest boy. You have my love,” he confessed.

“Then show me it,” said Athos.

In the soft glow of the lamplight, Treville pushed Athos onto his back and, braced on an arm, leant over him. He was a prize, a gift to be unwrapped. He was everything that Treville had ever wanted and it seemed a miracle that he was here in bed beside him, wanting him back. “I am the luckiest man in Christendom,” he said as he bent his head to explore, dipping his tongue into the crevice of each armpit, tasting the musk and enjoying the sensation of roughness. 

Delighted by this simple thing, Athos arched up from the mattress, moaning in response as Treville continued his journey, mapping the lie of bone and muscle, then learning the feel of that soft pelt of hair as he kissed a path southwards to tease at the indented navel. Ignoring the straining laces of Athos’ braies he moved upwards once more, lingering over each nipple, suckling at them in turn until Athos was cursing him and begging for attention.

“Calm down, my boy, or I’ll be forced to take you over my knee,” said Treville sternly, a wolfish grin on his face as he added: “And I’d rather save that particular pleasure for tomorrow.”

The response from Athos was outstanding. Eyes black with arousal, he looked almost devilish in the lowness of the light, tempting Treville in then stalking him on hands and knees and pushing him over onto his back. “My turn,” he said, that angelic voice now gravelly and tinged with sin. “I also have plans for you.”

Unlacing Treville’s braies with teeth and fingers, he let the tip of his tongue dance over Treville’s cock and balls. With slow deliberation the tiny kisses became licks, and licks became so much more as Treville’s stiff length was encased within the deliciously hot vacuum of Athos’ mouth.

Both men groaned simultaneously as Athos settled between Treville’s spread thighs and began a slow suck. 

It was nothing Treville had ever previously experienced on this earth and there was no comparison to be made. A fuck was a bestial act: pounding into a man, letting loose with a buck and thrust of the hips. This was impossibly different. A rhythm that was syncopated and delicate, yet deceptively forceful as it progressed.

Determined to keep still, to hold on tight to his senses and allow this beautiful thing to last, Treville rode the swell inside him, his heart thundering. His fingers tangled into Athos’ hair as he came to the brink of taking full pleasure in that bearded mouth, before fighting off, at the last second, his urge to let loose.

“I must have you that way,” he demanded and ignoring his aching cock, he twisted onto his knees, curled between Athos’ legs and explored those most coveted parts in great depth. The taste of him was glorious, sweet with desire, salty with piss and with that distinct tang of musk as a base note to the flavour. Understanding Athos’ enjoyment of doing this, Treville turned, pulling the man to him, letting him rest thick in his throat, honeyed rivers running down his gullet. He was filled with the desire to consume Athos, to have all of him always. 

“Mine,” he murmured around that full mouthful of cock and wrestling Athos around once more he gorged himself until Athos thrashed and bayed beneath him.

“Yes. Yes, Papa, yes.”

Eating became drinking and still Treville devoured Athos, gasping for joy, sprawled out and grinding into the rough cotton sheets as he took every droplet into him, then let the spent cock soften off against tongue and cheek.

Crawling up that limp body Treville looked in wonder at a man he had loved and taken apart so well, his own erection, as throbbing and insistent as it may have been, a thing of inconsequence to him.

“You will always be mine in every way,” he declared out loud.

“Shall we hide here forever?” said Athos, a slow smile appearing on his face. “Or perhaps run away and find somewhere we can live out the rest of our days together.” He paused and then grinned. “Sucking each other’s cocks to our heart’s content.”

If only such a place existed, thought Treville. As cautious as Porthos and Aramis had been, their secret had still been found out. However this was not the time to think of such things, he decided. There was sex to be done and all night to do it in. “As a matter of fact, I have a cock here that is ripe and ready for you to practice on,” smiled Treville, squirming away from Athos’ greedy mouth as he sought him out. “But there’s much more I need to discover first, so get naked for me, my lad.”

Athos was a palace of temptation, thought Treville as he undressed fully, watching with pleasure as the other man wriggled free of his braies. “Now roll over onto your belly for me,” he commanded.

As Athos did so Treville knelt astride him, his cock throbbing at the sight of that oh so tempting cleft. Lovestruck, he fended off his baser desires and reached instead for the bottle of oil, tipping a little of it into his cupped palm and then beginning a slow massage, learning the areas which excited Athos the most. As the oil trickled downwards, Treville followed its path with his fingers, stroking and pressing, teasing Athos open until he was groaning out his appreciation into the pillow and then rocking up onto all fours.

Stripped raw in all ways, Treville slid an oiled hand over his cock and then inched forward, presenting himself to Athos and then pushing slowly inside, determined to cause as little pain as possible. Being fully embedded was different to the other times he’d had sex. That triumphant moment of being mated was there as always, but at the heart of this coupling was a need to cause rather than to chase pleasure. He took Athos in hand, finding him part way to stiff again and, buried hilt deep in the man, he let his palm roll over that thick cock, pulling at him, stroking him until Athos was shoving forcefully against him.

“Want me, do you?” asked Treville, his own voice rough with need.

“More than anything,” gasped Athos, working him with every muscle in his body.

To have this was to have the world, thought Treville, taking Athos slowly and deeply, needing this wonderful thing between them to last forever. Whilst he was doing so he murmured quiet words that he’d never felt before, certainly never imagined he’d dare say to another man. Things that seemed so simple in this half world place, away from the clamour of soldiering and politics. When Athos said them back, with meaning, with just as much feeling, it seemed all too easy to imagine a life spent together--this love had already become as necessary to him as air--and when they spilled, into and over each other, it was with an intention that they would not, could not let go.

Sleep came easily as it always did after sex, but then, as the pallid light of dawn spilled in through the windows Treville awoke in a panic, struggling for breath after suffering from a nightmare of being discovered in flagrante. Sitting up ramrod straight, he looked around him, hearing something in the background and imagining it to be the sounds of the Red Guard marching in and dragging them off in chains to the Châtelet.

“All is well,” murmured Athos, half asleep but still aware enough to reel him in for some much needed comfort. As was inevitable, these kisses led to much more and by the time the sun was full in the sky they were, once again, lying sated in each other's arms.

They dozed again for a while, sprawled naked together and taking full advantage of this stolen pleasure, but eventually the grumbling of empty stomachs encouraged them to move, despite the coldness of the kitchen with its icy flagstone floor. 

“I dreamt that we were found out,” said Treville as he sat opposite Athos at the breakfast table.

“Is that your subtle way of ending things between us?” Athos frowned at him. “Am I now just an inconvenient lunatic again?”

“Don’t be so obstreperous,” said Treville, spooning porridge into bowls and slopping it over the sides. “You fly off the handle all too easily these days, Athos. You cannot be this ill tempered and hope to successfully captain your soldiers.”

Athos raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting to match it and Treville spluttered with laughter. “I was never an angry commander,” he countered.

“Just a little crabby in the mornings, as I recall.” 

By now, Athos was laughing openly at him and Treville was more than happy to join in with the games. “But never as crabby as you were after you’d been on a bender the night before.”

“And what kind of bender would that be?”

The implication was clear and Treville leaned forward to catch Athos’ face in his cupped hands and draw him in for a kiss. “Believe me, there’s nothing I enjoy more than having you bend for me.”

“Then try not to irritate me too much and you may well get your wish, sooner rather than later.”

If it hadn’t been for the sound of cart wheels approaching along the rutted track then Treville would have made this wish an immediate reality and taken his infuriating, beautiful man right there on the kitchen table. “We need that secret hideaway,” he grumbled, removing himself from the arms of temptation.

“It’s the innkeeper’s daughter from Pinon,” said Athos, peering out of the window. “What on earth can she want?” Opening the door, he welcomed the girl into the house. “You’re a bright and early visitor, Jeanne.”

Jeanne ducked her head shyly, uncertain how to address her former lord and master. “Bonjour, sir.” She entered the kitchen at Athos’ bidding, carrying with her a cloth covered basket.

“How on earth did you know we were here?” asked Treville. The chateau was situated in a secluded position, several miles from the village and it was unlikely that any had seen them pass by.

“Mme de Garouville instructed me to bring over some food for you both. She said that you were visiting and that the pantry was short on supplies.” Jeanne looked up inquiringly. “She also told father and I that she’d no longer be living here at the chateau.”

“This is true,” said Athos. “Catherine is an intelligent, forthright woman and, as such, has no need to rely on my charity.” He smiled fondly at the girl. “Thank you for the food, Jeanne. It’s most kind of you.”

“You’ve been more than generous to us in the past, sir,” replied the girl, bobbing her head in gratitude.

“And how have things been since I was here last?” enquired Athos.

“The harvests have all been a great success and the notary has accepted your seal without question.”

“As I expected,” said Athos. “And has the baron been a better neighbour?”

“He’s barely been seen since the death of his son,” said Jeanne. “I would feel sorry for him if it hadn’t been for what happened to me at his home.”

“I’m sorry that he and his family treated you in such a despicable way.” Athos looked as disgraced as if he’d been the one to try and force Jeanne into bed.

However confused it might be, Treville understood Athos’ reasoning. The sins of his forefathers had no doubt been many and plentiful, and Athos’ actions, in response to his wife’s own crimes, had come as a direct result of his lineage. It was not surprising, therefore, that he blamed himself for the Baron Reynard’s behaviour.

“It’s not your fault,” insisted Jeanne. “If it hadn’t been for you and the other Musketeers then things would be far worse for us now. Is there anything else you might need during your stay?”

“No thank you, Jeanne,” said Athos. “Regrettably we must leave for Paris soon.”

“There are duties there that cannot be neglected much longer,” added Treville. “But hopefully I’ll persuade him to return and begin repairs on the house in the near future. It would be a damn shame to let this place fall into ruin.”

“It would indeed, sir,” said Jeanne, heading for the door. “We will always be happy to see you both in Piñon.”

As the girl made her way back to the cart, Athos let out a deep sigh, finally able to let go of all the sins he had been carrying around for years. “It seems as if Catherine has forgiven me as I have her,” he said in quiet satisfaction. “We are even at last.”

Treville hoped this to be true with all his heart. “Perhaps now you will be able to find some peace.”

Athos smiled at him. “I have already,” he said, wilting with relief. “I believe I could be happy here.”

“We could be happy here,” agreed Treville, letting his arm fall naturally about Athos’ waist.

“Who said you were invited?” 

Athos’ grin was the most engaging sight Treville had ever seen. Full of mischief, it embodied everything that was perfect about their relationship and his cock surged upwards in response.

“Enough of your cheek, young man,” he growled. “You’ve been willful and disobedient once too often today.”

Athos trembled with excitement at these words, his eyes wide, pupils expanding until there was just a hint of green left in them.

“Remove your clothing.”

“All of it?” questioned Athos.

“All of it,” insisted Treville, wanting to have Athos as vulnerable as possible. Wanting to see him naked, that cock standing to attention for him alone. “The room is warm. You will not suffer, but you must learn your lesson.”

Head hung low in obeisance, Athos undressed, casting his clothes thoughtlessly to one side.

“A good soldier keeps himself and his belongings tidy,” reprimanded Treville.

In response Athos picked up his clothing, carefully folding each item and placing it in a neat pile on the table.

“What is this?” said Treville, drawing a fingertip up the length of Athos’ erection and teasing gently at the skin until it rolled back of its own volition.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” murmured Athos. “I cannot help it.”

“You must learn to control your urges.”

It was a lesson Treville had taught himself early on in his career, and was of the opinion, up until now, that he had mastered it well, but having Athos standing naked before him, undone in this way, sent him straight back to the schoolroom.

Taking off his jacket and loosening breeches and braies, he sat on one of the chairs. “Over my knee you go, boy,” he said, his voice thickened with lust, his cock making an appearance through the split of linen.

“Yes, Papa,” said Athos, stretching out across Treville’s lap.

His hand raised, all that potential waiting to be released, Treville eked out the pleasure as long as possible. This resulted in Athos squirming helplessly against him, riddled with anticipation, an act which forced their cocks to mate together. 

“Ready?”

Athos let out a moan which was as sinful as any whore and, in response, Treville brought his hand down smartly across that bottom, enjoying the sting it resulted in as much as the increase in contact.

His fingers now tangled into Athos’ hair, he repeated the action again and again until his palm was sore and those buttocks were painted red. Until Athos jerked and stiffened, releasing a wash of semen, along with the inevitable cry of: “Papa, yes!”

Falling to the floor, trembling more than ever, Athos knelt at Treville’s feet, leaning forward and washing away the evidence of his sin. Freeing Treville from his clothing he then took him fully into his mouth to suckle, a look of utter contentment on his face at performing this act.

Treville leant back in the chair, eyes closed as he let emotion and sensation wash over him. When it all became too much, he was an active participant once again, stroking Athos, guiding his actions and thrusting into his mouth, then spending with his own familiar cry.

“My beautiful boy. Oh god.”

Coming back to earth, his hands still busy petting Athos, whose head remained nestled in his lap, he was well aware that there was a high level of perversity about this, but it was sin free and as such he wondered why church or crown would ever feel they had the right to interfere in private business.

“Stop fidgeting so much,” said Athos, his words muffled by linen, leather and a curl of softening cock. “You’re disturbing me.”

Laughing, Treville pulled him up from the floor. “Napping on the cold flagstones will lead to you getting haemorrhoids and that would disturb my rest time far too much.”

“I hardly think of what we do in bed as rest,” replied Athos, striding over to the fire to warm himself, stark naked and unabashed by it. “On the contrary, I find it most exhilarating.”

“We’ll call it exercise then, shall we?” said Treville coming over to join him and looking down in horror at the state of his clothing which was soaked with Athos’ semen and his own excited juices. “Damn it, man! Will I ever be clean again?”

“I hope not,” replied Athos, his eyes sparking with newfound life. “I hope we shall always remain as dirty as this.”


	8. Chapter 8

After a final session of lovemaking that had a dreamlike quality about it, the two men came to the mutually unwilling conclusion that their return journey to Paris must be made as soon as possible, before Porthos and Aramis began to worry and sent an army out to rescue them from other marauding noblemen.

Travelling on foot to Piñon was pleasant and allowed Treville time to hark back to his own childhood. One of the many things he appreciated about Athos was the taciturn nature of the man.

“We’re almost there,” said Athos after they had been walking for an hour or so. Unexpectedly catching Treville by the arm, he drew him off the path and into the seclusion of a bower of hazel trees. “I need a little more time with you before we must pretend that we are friends once again.”

“It will not be a pretence,” said Treville as he allowed himself to be tugged downwards into a thick carpet of leaves. “We will always be friends, only now we are more besides.” So much more.

This evolved into another of those innocent moments that Treville would never forget. He luxuriated in having Athos in his arms as they lay together on the woodland floor, tangled up in each other, a mirror of the twisted branches above them.

“If we carry on like this we’ll not be away from Piñon before dawn,” said Treville, and yet he could not find it in him to leave this bucolic sanctuary of theirs.

“I’m trying hard to give a damn,” murmured Athos in between kisses.

“And failing miserably by the look of things,” laughed Treville, getting unwillingly to his feet. “Come on, you rascal, before I have to take you over my knee again, and we both know where that’ll end.”

“A night spent in the forest sounds good to me,” replied Athos, arching that sinner’s eyebrow.

“Well, it’s not happening,” said Treville, girding his loins and marching off through the trees, unable to suppress a smile of contentment at this new and enlightened state of being.

“It will be if you go that way,” chuckled Athos. “It’s at least twenty miles to the next village if you flounce off in that direction.”

“Know it all,” retorted Treville as he retraced his steps and joined Athos on the correct path. 

Finally arriving at their destination, Treville sent a messenger to the roadside coaching inn, informing their driver that they were ready to be collected from the hostelry in Piñon. Athos, meanwhile, paid a visit to the carpenter, arranging to have a simple cross made to mark Milady’s grave.

To Treville, she would never be Anne de la Fère, she would be preserved in his memory as that roguish spy with enough spirit to defeat an entire army, but getting to know the real Athos, these past few days, had allowed Treville to understand their relationship as husband and wife a little better. She had fallen head over heels for a carefree nobleman and would have found the surly soldier that took his place a frustrating challenge. He, in turn, had adored his free spirited wife and the wiles and casual cruelty of the assassin must have come as a dreadful shock. Finally parted forever, they were perhaps as true as they had ever been with each other.

“All done?” he inquired when Athos reappeared.

“Indeed,” replied Athos with a relaxed smile. “It will be a good excuse for us to return here soon.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more,” said Treville in a low voice. “I’ve arranged lodgings for us tonight as I imagine the coachman will have the sense to wait until morning before he starts out.”

“Good,” said Athos. “Perhaps we should retire to our room now and get rested ready for the journey.” He paused. “Unless you are hungry?”

All that leisurely kissing in the fresh air had given Treville an appetite for more than food. “I’m hungry for you,” he replied under his breath. After all, it would be foolish not to make the most of this opportunity.

They took to the stairs with an air of casual disregard, but then, once the heavy iron bolt had been drawn into its housing they fell on each other voraciously, tumbling half clothed into bed.

Using lamp oil to ease the passage of his cock, Treville slackened Athos off with fingers and then mounted him from behind, pulling him to orgasm and then finishing off inside him with a cry of pleasure that was muffled by his own fist.

“I’ll need to do this every time I see you,” he said as he cleaned them both up with a damp rag. “We must learn to disguise our feelings.”

“I’m sure I’ll tire of you soon,” said Athos, smirking up at him and this resulted in a long drawn out wrestling session, giving way to more of those addictive kisses.

Fully clothed now, in case of interruption, they lay together, Treville’s head resting on Athos’ chest. It was an unusual position for them and one that Treville took great comfort in, enjoying the switch in roles.

“I’ve never had anything approaching this in my life,” he confessed as Athos pressed a kiss to his thinning hairline. “I’m near fifty years old and have never-” Could he say it? Dare he assume that it was still true when they were no longer caught up in the throes of passion? “I have never been loved.”

“You are now and I can assure you that you have been for a long time,” said Athos as he yawned and turned slightly, enough to pull Treville in closer. “We will find a way to make this work.”

A short while later, a series of sharp knocks roused them from their half slumber and Treville opened the door to be told by a chambermaid that the coachman was outside, ready to transport them back to Paris.

“You could have waited until morning, driver,” said Treville sharply as he was about to enter the carriage behind Athos.

“I thought it might be urgent, sir, seeing as you summoned me so late in the day.”

“It’s not.” Treville cursed himself inwardly for being intent not to arouse suspicion, curtailing any further chance of spending hours dozing in Athos’ arms, something which was, by now, becoming as important to him as their sex.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as they had returned to Paris, Athos kept to his word, leaving the sanctuary of Treville’s rooms at the palace in order to resume his position as captain of the Musketeers.

Saddened greatly by this, but knowing that it was right in all ways, Treville made the journey with him, wanting to see him safely ensconced back in barracks.

The welcome Athos received from his men was uplifting. He had been an excellent commander during times of war, especially considering he’d never led an army before, and every member of the regiment, from stableboy to sharp shooter, let out such a cry of joy at his return that the noise must have been heard as far away as Versailles. 

Leaving Athos to re-establish himself in his quarters, Treville sought out Aramis and Porthos in order to have a quiet word with them.

“How is he really?” rumbled Porthos, his horse whinnying with expectation at the distinctive timbre of his master’s voice.

“He’s well,” said Treville, knowing that he was believed from the look of relief on both men’s faces.

“I assume then that Milady de Winter is alive,” said Aramis.

“No, she’s most definitely dead,” said Treville, surprisingly saddened at having to say the words. “But Athos has come to terms with it. His wife is buried. He has a place to mourn her and he’s now able to move on.”

Being embraced by both men at once came as another surprise and Treville let himself be hugged until he was struggling for breath.

“Enough, gentlemen,” he said, a smile on his face as he freed himself from two sets of arms. “I’ll still be keeping a fierce eye on him and I know you will do the same, but I think we can be safe in the knowledge that Athos is back.”

“Thank God,” said Aramis, looking up to the heavens.

“Thank you, Captain,” said Porthos, taking Treville’s gloved hand between his own great paws and holding it firm. “God had nothing to do with this.”

“On that last part we shall agree to differ.” Aramis smiled up at his partner. “But I do realise how indebted we are to you, Minister, for bringing our dear man home safe. We’ll take care of him from here.”

Treville couldn’t help but baulk a little at these words--Athos was his and his alone--but he appreciated the sentiment behind them. “I know that you will do just that,” he said. “And on the strength of it I shall go and say goodbye to the dear man in question.” Wheeling around on the cobbles, he made his way out of the stable yard. “Enjoy the feasting while it lasts,” he called in farewell. “For tomorrow, you’ll have a hard taskmaster in charge of you once again.”

Taking the wooden steps two at a time, Treville entered the captain’s quarters without announcing his arrival, to find Athos seated at his desk, head in hands and looking dreadfully weary. It was a troubling sight. “If you’re not well enough to resume command-”

His words of concern were interrupted by Athos. “I can assure you I’m fit and well in all ways,” he said with the vaguest hint of a smile. “Though that does not necessarily mean that I’ll enjoy our change in circumstance.” He steepled his hands in an unconscious reflection of Treville’s customary pose. “These weeks spent by your side have been a pleasure, the last few days extraordinary.”

Treville found himself leaning over the desk in the same manner that Athos had done, many times in the past. “As they have been for me also.” He longed to reach out and brush the hair away from Athos’ eyes so that he could see him properly. “Listen, Athos, nothing between us need alter in any way,” he said, sotto voce. “Except perhaps the frequency of it.”

“And quality surpasses quantity,” replied Athos, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards.

“I’d always thought it of a pretty high standard myself.” Treville returned the smile and was surprised for the third time that night when Athos narrowed the gap and then stole a kiss, his tongue slipping between parted lips to explore Treville’s mouth.

The moment lasted longer than it should have done, both men enjoying themselves thoroughly until Treville was forced to step back before things grew too heated. “Much more of this and I’ll have you on your back.”

Athos stood, walking around the desk to be within kissing distance once again. He rested a hand on Treville's shoulder then let his palm drift slowly downwards until their fingers made brief contact.

“I only wish,” he said in a low voice, “that I’d let my feelings for you show themselves a little sooner. The fun we could have had here on that desk.”

“You expect me to sleep a wink tonight after that,” growled Treville. His cock throbbed along with the rapid beating his heart. He needed Athos now.

A fumble was all they had time for, rough and ready up against the wall in the most private corner of the room. Hands in breeches, they worked at each other, mouths connected to muffle the cries as they came in simultaneous spasms of delight.

“That was dangerous,” said Treville afterwards as he scrubbed himself clean of their residue.

“But necessary if I am to manage seeing you at court tomorrow without embarrassing myself,” replied Athos. 

“If you visit the palace then there is no reason why you shouldn’t come to my rooms afterwards to report on private matters.” 

“There is every reason not to.”

Treville shrugged dismissively. “We’ll do what we want.” Athos’ constant presence in his life could easily be explained away by the fact that they were close friends as well as being colleagues. Over the years they’d grown together as companions, slowly opening up to one another as they shared troubles over brandy. Was it anyone’s business that they now shared so much more?

Love. It was a troublesome word, but Treville took great store in being able to voice it for the first time in his life.


	10. Chapter 10

That longed for solitude and time to spend brooding was not as agreeable as Treville had once thought. All too often he found himself sitting at his desk daydreaming, reams of paperwork from his secretary piling up in front of him.

The queen was now heavy with child again and the king was distracted from conventional duties, busy planning lavish celebrations for the dauphin’s birthday. The upshot of this was that Treville was left largely to his own devices. It was a temptation to visit the garrison, but he restrained himself, knowing full well that his desire to bed Athos would inevitably overwhelm him and lead them both into hot water.

Though both men had entertained the idea that it would be simple enough to maintain a discreet relationship, the practicalities turned out to be very different. In the two months since their return to duty they had managed just one furtive get together at the palace, during which they came close to being discovered by a servant who had entered the outer room of the solar looking for Treville. To their massive relief the man did not continue onwards in his mission and open the door to the bedchamber, for had he done so the jig would have been up. As entranced with each other as ever, they finished their fuck that day, insanely aroused from the fear of being found out, but had since vowed never to take such risks again.

The problem was that Treville was smitten, head over heels in love with his sullen captain, and as a result of it, had become dreadfully lonely most of the time. How did other men cart around these feelings for their sweethearts and still function as ordinary human beings? It was a conundrum.

This morning he was lighter in spirits than he had been for many weeks, having made arrangements to meet up with Athos at one of the riverside inns for a late breakfast. It would seem normal to the citizens of Paris to see them dining together, but if Treville squinted hard he could imagine this as a romantic liaison. Pushing aside the ridiculous notion of taking a room for the day, he made his way through the streets, avoiding gullies of filth and stepping neatly across the many beggars who lined the way. Paris was a cesspit at this time of year.

The Six Bells tavern was heaving with a quagmire of Parisian proletariat, but Treville, who was accustomed to Athos’ ways, surveyed the darkest corners of the building and soon spotted his quarry, seated at a secluded table, already tucking into a meal of beer and bread.

“Captain,” he said in greeting as he took the chair opposite and waved the girl over to bring him some refreshments.

“Minister.” Athos smirked. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I would see plenty more of you if I could,” intoned Treville, weary of this enforced separation. “I’ve been thinking that once the royal family retreat to the country for the summer, perhaps we should conclude our business at Piñon.”

“A grand idea,” said Athos, fixing his eyes on Treville. “But unfortunately I’ve just received word from d’Artagnan that he’s escorting a prisoner from Southampton to Le Havre and will arrive here in Paris within a week, provided the weather holds up.”

“What does that have to do with us?” asked Treville. “He’s on attachment to the English court at present.”

“The prisoner in question is the highwayman he’s been chasing for the past few weeks who has turned out to be of French nobility and is therefore under our king’s jurisdiction. D’Artagnan tells me it will be a complicated matter with Charles demanding recompense, so I doubt there’ll be a summer retreat for any of us this year.” He sighed loudly in disgust. “I had been counting on some time.” The ‘with you’ was unspoken and unnecessary.

Feeling as fractious as he had ever done in his entire life, Treville glowered with frustration and kneaded the knitted furrow at the bridge of his nose. “Could the queen’s confinement make any difference to proceedings?”

“I doubt it,” said Athos, refilling flagons with beer. “You and I both know how complex diplomacy can be.”

Calling the serving girl over once more, Treville took matters into his own hands. “Is there a room available?” he asked. “The captain and I are expecting a visitor and require a degree of privacy for the meeting.”

“Of course, sir,” said the girl and, once coins had changed hands, the two men followed her up a rickety flight of stairs into an attic room. “The most private in the hostelry.”

“When someone says the name Mazarin to you, please show them up here,” said Treville, ducking his head to avoid the rafters and then closing and bolting the door behind them once the girl had departed.

“You really are a wily old fox,” laughed Athos as they were finally alone together. “You’d even give my wife a run for her money. Being at close quarters with Richelieu all those years has taught you some tricks of the trade, old man.”

Treville had always harboured a grudging respect for the cardinal, admiring that silver tongue and sharp intellect from the outset, so being compared to him was in most part a compliment. It was also a perfect entry point to their games.

“As always, you need to be taken down a peg or two, my lad,” he said in a stern voice. “Lower your breeches and hold onto the bedstead.”

Athos complied with haste, a look of acquiescence in those hot green eyes, and one sight of his exposed bottom had Treville aching hard and ready for sex. He would have fucked Athos there and then, but for the needy moan of encouragement and the knowledge of how best to please him.

The act of spanking turned out to be a forgotten delight and Treville rose to the challenge, cupping each buttock lovingly and then punishing it with a resounding smack. By the end of the discipline session, Athos was panting with desire, trembling in that coltish way of his that was so appealing, and having freed himself from breeches and braies, Treville slathered his cock with oil and took Athos with one long, slow thrust of the hips, reaching around to seek out that engorged shaft.

They fucked with abandon, Treville pounding into Athos, sweeping long hair to one side and then biting into an elegant column of neck. The bedstead rattled, the room span and with a moment of pure clarity Treville toppled into orgasm, all of him on fire as he unleashed inside his man. It was just as much of a pleasure to push Athos back onto the mattress and kneel between his legs, guzzling him down until he came hard, crying out with love. 

“How many more years service to the crown must we endure?” murmured Athos as he folded himself around Treville, lips pressed against his throat, breath warm and inviting.

Treville wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. From out of nowhere, his eyes stung with salt as the image of Athos leading his men into a volley of gun fire, cannons thundering overhead, came unbidden to his mind. “As few as we can negotiate,” he answered, his voice tight with anxiety. “I will not lose you, my darling boy.”

The remainder of the day was spent engaged in similar pursuits, and before the week was half out they had met secretly at another backstreet tavern. Treville was about to arrange a third liaison when he received message that d’Artagnan had arrived in the palace courtyard with his prisoner in tow.

“D’Artagnan,” he said in welcome, as he crossed the cobblestones to greet him. “It’s good to see you.”

The boy had matured into a fully fledged, handsome man, with facial hair carved neatly onto a face that was far more thoughtful than it had been in his youth.

“And you, Minister,” replied d’Artagnan, leading his manacled prisoner out of the carriage. “I believe Athos will be interested in seeing what we’ve caught at the end of our line.”

Treville looked on in shock to see that the highwayman was none other than Catherine de Garouville. “You?” he said disbelievingly.

“What choice did Athos leave me when he threw me out of my home.”

“ _His_ home,” corrected Treville. “For that matter, what choice did you leave him after murdering his wife in cold blood? Personally, I think you were lucky to avoid the noose that day.”

D’Artagnan looked more than a little nonplussed at Treville’s heated outburst, but responded calmly. “The lady will not escape justice this time,” he said. “The King of England has demanded her execution.”

Treville sighed, hoping against hope that the situation would not accelerate into something much worse. Wars could be started over much smaller matters than this if both sides chose to take offence. “Have her locked up in the dungeons here,” he said. “Then go and explain the situation to Athos, whilst I meet with the king.”

This was not good. He’d hoped that Athos would never be confronted by the de Garouville woman again and now she would be on her knees begging him to plead with the king on her behalf. No, this was not good at all.

With the case being of no interest to the people of France, a private hearing was convened, the king presiding over it as judge and jury, a common occurrence when members of the nobility were charged with wrongdoing.

“Comtesse de Garouville,” said Louis, examining the prisoner who was standing before him. “I don’t recall seeing you in court before. For that matter, I do not remember hearing your name mentioned ever.”

“My father was disgraced, your Majesty. He lost his fortune and lands at the gaming tables and then died from the shame of it.” The manacles had been removed from Catherine’s wrists and she stood to her full height, with no hint of shame in her eyes, looking every inch the wronged woman.

“Oh, I see,” said Louis. “A most awkward situation. What did you do then?”

“I relied on charity from friends.”

Treville was all too aware of her casting her eyes towards Athos. Had she already petitioned him for help? Having been tied up with the King for days on end, Treville was out of touch with goings on and longed for a moment to speak privately with his lover. Instead he had to make do with standing a yard away from him, completely in the dark.

“When that was taken away from me then I had no choice but to rely on my cunning to get by.” Catherine lowered her eyes demurely. “I had nothing left, Your Majesty. No home. No belongings. My life was over.”

Treville had had enough. “The comtesse has been robbing the people of England, Sire. Her situation in life has no bearing on the matter.”

“It does a little,” said Louis. “But it will not appease my cousin who has demanded your head.” He paused and surveyed Catherine with a haughty look. “Your crimes are such that it is a legitimate claim. D'Artagnan, here, has advised me well on the matter. You have not only stolen, you have also committed murder on several occasions and as such will face the consequences.”

“Athos!” cried Catherine. “You cannot allow this to happen.”

“You know my Musketeer captain,” said the king, taken aback by this revelation. “How odd.”

“I know him as Olivier d’Athos, Comte de la Fère,” explained Catherine, a sly look on her face.

A shrew who would not be tamed, thought Treville.

“Oh yes.” Louis clapped his hands excitedly. “Rochefort told me all about that business. What do you have to say on the matter, Athos?”

“I have known the comtesse since we were children, your Majesty,” Athos answered in a laconic drawl. “I allowed her to stay in my home when she had nowhere else to go.”

“And later threw me out,” spat Catherine. “With nothing. Not even my own jewellery to trade for food.”

“I had been lenient for long enough.”

“Now now, Athos,” said Louis. “There is no time limit on charity. If you had a house you were no longer occupying then it seems only the decent thing to allow a friend to make use of it.”

“She and I are not friends,” explained Athos.

“No,” said Catherine. “We were once much more than that. Engaged to be married, only you cheated me out of that also.”

“Majesty,” reiterated Treville. “The charges that have been brought against her are backed by solid evidence, and swift action is required unless we are to offend the English sovereign.”

“I suppose you are right, Treville,” said Louis with a shrug. “A shame really since this has been far more fascinating than any of the plays I’ve seen at the theatre: a nobleman who has renounced his title, a comtesse turned highwayman, broken engagements and duplicitous acts.”

Treville prayed that Louis wouldn’t get carried away with the romance of it and offer clemency. “A sentence is required,” he said, trying to hasten proceedings. “Unless you wish the matter to be taken before one of your judges.”

“No need for that,” said Louis. “Comtesse de Garouville, I find you guilty of the crimes of highway robbery and murder, and I sentence you to be executed by my swordsman at dawn.”

“There are others here who should be put to death ahead of me,” spat Catherine as one of the soldiers clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder. “There is a far more insidious reason why Athos threw me out of his house.” She paused as all eyes descended upon her. “I saw him degrading himself with another man,” she continued, smug with satisfaction as she glanced at Treville. “And that person was your own prime minister.”


	11. Chapter 11

“What do you mean by this outrageous statement?” said Louis, stepping in closer to glare at Catherine.

“I returned to the house to retrieve my property and saw them in bed together.”

“Is this true?” said Louis, looking to both men for answers. “Can these terrible things she is saying be fact?”

“Indeed they are, Your Majesty,” said Athos in that oh so calm way of his.

Treville’s head pounded with fear. They would be tried for this and would hang publicly. What was the fool thinking?

“My house is currently a burnt out ruin,” said Athos. “There’s one habitable space with a bed in it and so Treville and I bunked down for the night as soldiers do. If you can call sleeping under shared bedcovers a degrading act, then sobeit.”

“This is nonsense,” declared Catherine. “There are witnesses from the nearby village who will back up what I say.”

Treville knew then that Catherine had not forgiven Athos that day and had simply sent Jeanne over to the chateau to act as her unwitting spy and catch them in bed together. He was right all along not to trust her motives.

“I don’t understand,” said Louis, ignoring Catherine and concentrating instead on Athos and Treville. “Why were you both there in the first place?”

Athos chewed thoughtfully at his lip. “If I answer your question then it will have added bearing on the case against the comtesse, though I suppose that is of little consequence seeing as she has already received sentence.”

“I am the law,” proclaimed Louis. “I have the power to commute if I see fit. Tell me your reasons, Captain.”

“I received word, on return from Spain, that my wife had been murdered,” said Athos, with his customary air of ennui. “The letter was from Catherine de Garouville and described in great detail how she had committed the crime and then brought the body back to my family estate at La Fère.”

“You wife was a thief and a murderess,” said Catherine.

“As are you,” replied Athos coolly.

“She killed your own brother.”

“This gets more fascinating by the second,” said Louis, looking from one to the other. “How did I not know all of this before?” He looked plaintively at Treville. “Richelieu would have kept me better informed.”

Catherine smiled in triumph. “More fascinating still, Your Majesty, when I tell you that the woman in question was Milady de Winter.”

Treville watched the king’s face fall, a confusion of emotions present as Catherine de Garouville unwittingly became the engineer of her own downfall. All talk of an unnatural relationship between Treville and Athos was forgotten as the Louis came to terms with the disclosure of his former mistress’ murder.

“You killed Milady de Winter?” he asked.

“I did and I would do it again,” said Catherine. “She was a foul creature.”

“The lady had her faults,” said Louis. “But I have since realised that she played an important part in saving the lives of myself and my family from the hands of a lunatic. She did not deserve to die by your hand.”

Catherine grew incandescent with rage. “Does everyone value her over me?”

“It seems so,” said the king, infuriated by her disregard of him. “You, madam, shall be executed by public hanging,” he said. “It is a far more suitable sentence for someone of such low worth.”

“Your Majesty,” said Athos, stepping forward, his head bent in deference. “I believe that I have played a significant part in the Comtesse de Garouville’s fall from grace and as such would prefer it if her sentence of execution was commuted to one of life imprisonment.”

“She murdered your wife and yet you plead for mercy on her behalf?” The king stared at Athos in bewilderment. “I don’t understand you in the slightest, Athos, but you’re undoubtedly a compassionate man, and it is for this reason only that I shall agree to your request.” He switched his attention to Catherine. “Madam, you are lucky I value my captain enough to comply with his wishes. Guards, take her away.”

With every ounce of bravado knocked out of her, Catherine de Garouville was removed from court. Treville was happy to see the doors close behind her, though he would have been happier still to have her permanently silenced by the rope.

“Thank you, Sire,” said Athos with a nod of the head. “I am most grateful.”

“In future,” said Louis as he fixed a beady eye on Treville and Athos in turn. “I expect my advisors to keep me better advised.”

“We shall endeavour to do so, Sire,” said Treville with a bow.

“Good, good,” said the king. “Now I must retire to my chambers and relay all this excitement to the queen. She’ll be sad that she missed the entertainment, I’m sure.”

As the king left, followed by a train of servants, Treville let out a muted sigh of relief. They were still in public and he could not allow his emotions to get the better of him.

“An unnatural relationship,” laughed d’Artagnan, his arm wrapped around Athos. “Why would she suggest such a thing?”

“Desperation does strange things to people,” replied Athos, his eyes warm, his gaze focused on Treville. “It can result in bad decision making.”

Had they not known each other so well then Treville could easily have misconstrued these words. Instead he took them as they were intended, as an apology for past actions. “Bad decisions can occasionally have the best consequences,” he said with a warm smile.

“When you confessed to it, I swear my jaw hit the floor,” laughed d’Artagnan.

“As did mine,” added Treville, though D’Artagnan would never know the weight behind these words. “Come gentlemen, let us tell the news to Aramis and Porthos before they die of curiosity.”

“Spread the gossip, you mean to say,” smirked Athos as the three men walked the corridors of the palace, taking the eastern exit which led to the stables.

The subsequent afternoon and evening were spent drinking at the garrison and, following on from that, at one of the local taverns where money could be wasted on gaming as well as wine.

The story was told and retold amongst the gathering of soldiers, a case of Chinese Whispers as the tale of the trial became more lurid each time it was passed on. The guffaws of laughter at the idea of anything more than friendship between captain and minister set Treville’s mind at rest. He supposed, to the men, they were nothing but a pair of misanthropic fools who were bound to duty alone.

Only Porthos cast a few knowing looks their way. “I’m happy things worked out so well,” he said with a wink.

Treville let his face remain placid as Athos answered for the two of them.

“It is as it should be,” he said with a tip of the head.

The reply was subtle enough that d’Artagnan remained oblivious, as perhaps did a drunken Aramis, although no doubt Porthos would inform him of the facts later on that evening.

“It was a generous thing you did to plead for mercy on Catherine’s behalf,” said Treville, clapping a hand down on Athos’ shoulder in friendly manner. The added squeeze revealed a little more of his feelings.

Athos laughed. “Believe me, it had nothing to do with generosity or mercy. I simply preferred that she live out her days in prison rather than punish me further with her blood on my conscience.”

“You’re still a kind man, despite the fact you insist on hiding it at all times,” said d’Artagnan. “Now, boys, I must away to my bed. I have a ship to catch tomorrow and a pregnant wife to fuss over back in London.”

Standing up, he wobbled precariously, under the influence of a glut of alcohol.

“Aramis and I will see our young friend safely back to barracks,” said Porthos, getting up to act as support. “Meanwhile, you two gentlemen can take care of the bill.”

It was a win-win situation for all and by the time Treville had handed over in excess of half the contents of his purse to the landlord, the tavern was devoid of Musketeers and it was time for he and Athos to make their own way home -- wherever that may be.

“We had a close shave today,” he said as they stood outside in the deserted alleyway. “You were fearless. I don’t know how you remained so stoic.”

“Am I not always?” smirked Athos.

“I’ve seen you come undone enough,” said Treville.

“And you shall see it tonight,” said Athos. “Provided we can think of a suitable venue.”

“You have the key to your rooms on you?”

“I do,” said Athos. “But, I warn you, they’re far from salubrious.”

“I couldn’t give a damn if they were a monastic cell,” growled Treville, his cock already hard within his breeches. “Provided they have a door and four walls."

Rue Ferou was a tiny backstreet in the same arrondissement as the garrison. Athos’ lodgings here were just a stone’s throw from regimental headquarters and for that reason alone it was probably not the most sensible of locations after today’s revelations, but needs must, and their needs, that night, were great.

“I will buy myself a house,” decided Treville as they mounted the staircase at great haste, jostling each other on the way, the foreplay between them already beginning.

Athos unlocked the heavy door and, remembering his manners, allowed Treville to enter before him. “There is no point. We cannot be seen coming in and out of the same place together too often.” He huffed out a sigh of despondency. “Perhaps it would be better if we made this our last time in Paris.”

Positively frightened at the thought, Treville launched himself at the man, fingers weaving into his hair, mouth latched on tightly to silence his words. “Not happening,” he said, full of defiance. Full of Athos.

The bed was small, cold and rather damp, but it took them no time at all to heat things up. Games were not on the menu tonight, but instead a lot of much needed touching and kissing. The wooden frame creaked rhythmically as Treville eased himself inside Athos, taking him, for the first time ever, on his back.

“We came close to losing everything today,” he said, relishing the comfort of Athos surrounding him. “If the king had asked me directly, I would not have denied my feelings for you.”

“Do you believe that I denied you when I refuted Catherine’s claims?” asked Athos, pulling away from further kisses.

“No,” reassured Treville, unused to having Athos jump to wrong conclusions. “Quite the opposite in fact. You stated quite clearly what we had been doing when she was spying on us.”

Athos relaxed immediately and laughed. “It was a dangerous game of chance. I was counting on the fact that it was the noise of her entering the house that had woken you. If it had been before that-”

“Or if she had waited around afterwards,” chuckled Treville, recalling a long and involved session of love making that had carried over well into mid morning.

“We would have been done for,” continued Athos, canting his hips in encouragement. “As it stands, we are two very fortunate men who still have the opportunity to fulfill each other's disgraceful needs.”

“I’ll fill you full right now,” said Treville with a rolling thrust of his body that resulted in a mutual rumble of satisfaction.

“Again,” said Athos, his eyes glittering in the lamplight. “Do that again.”

Clamping Athos’ narrow wrists above his head, Treville braced himself and pounded into the man, pacing his movements to push them both to the heady heights of bittersweet anticipation.

Clenching around him, snaking his hips from side to side to create some friction between them Athos whined low in his throat and finally resorted to begging. “Please,” he gasped. “I need this. I need you.”

Lifting himself and hooking his legs around Treville, he drew him in for more of those kisses, sucking on that fat pad of a tongue, his own dancing around Treville’s mouth until with a roar Treville arched back and gave way to his desires, pounding into Athos, bodies slapping as they fucked away the residual fears of the day. 

Resting back on his haunches, still embedded, he stopped for a breather and taking Athos in hand, he worked that cock with a firm grip, twisting and pulling, thumbing the wet head until Athos was clenched around him, every muscle tensing as the semen erupted from him in thick bursts, landing in white dollops on his belly.

Spent from his orgasm, Athos lay in a boneless heap, smiling in contentment as Treville pulled out of him and began to masturbate. It was a slow and steady rise to climax and he kept himself teetering at the edge, dragging his fingers through the pools of sperm and then painting Athos with it, all the while pulling at his own cock until he could last no longer and was jerking forward to add to the mess as he marked Athos as his own.


	12. Chapter 12

Building a relationship, under such difficult circumstances, would have been damn near impossible had it not been for the firm foundations on which theirs was based. As he had touched upon previously, Treville did indeed purchase a small house in one of the outer districts of Paris, and the two men alternated between meeting there and at Athos’ own lodgings, with the occasional foray into one of the city taverns, for old times’ sake.

The best days, however, were those spent at La Fère. Troubled by no one, they carried out repairs to the house whilst enjoying each other’s company, in bed and out of it, able to be themselves in this most private of places.

Visiting Piñon was a necessity in order to replenish supplies, and slowly the townsfolk grew accustomed to the sight of their former liege lord and his sidekick propping up the bar and testing the quality of the local ale. In fact, Jeanne had become so used to the pair of them wasting entire evenings in her establishment that she was soon comfortable enough to tease Athos, reminding him often of his fervent desire never to set foot in the place again.

“It is more agreeable when I am no longer responsible for a bunch of unruly peasants,” was his stock answer, delivered in laconic fashion with a hint of merriment in those green eyes.

Times changed for the worse when Treville’s premonitions came true and hostilities resumed with Spain. In silent anguish, he was forced to spectate from the sidelines as Athos led his men off to the battlefields once again. Peace had never been anything but an ephemera; the past two years had been the eye of the storm as far as historic enemies were concerned and war was an inevitability.

From then onwards, each day became a living hell. Treville could not have hated his position more, being stuck at the palace unable to do anything but offer military advice to his generals. As time dragged on, he found himself envying Aramis and Porthos. They, at least, had the opportunity to be together, and however difficult the conditions might be in Spain, Treville would have gladly offered up the entire contents of his coffers to be there with the regiment.

Dispatches were few and far between, riders at ever increasing risk as the French army pushed on, and Treville took great store in each communication, drinking in the elegant language which was at odds with Athos’ spider like scrawl. The signature, in contrast, was always beautifully scripted: an artistic flourish at the end which reminded Treville all too vividly of the man he was missing.

Occasionally he would find a personal letter to him tucked in between the documents, and these he would secrete away to read later in private, poring over each sentence in the dim candlelight to see whether he could divine more from between the lines. Athos had to be careful, as did he when writing back, but they had devised coded phrases which may have sounded mundane to others, but were a way for them to express their feelings for each other at long distance. The more he read these words, the more Treville longed for the sound of Athos’ voice, with the added accompaniment of that soft chuckle of laughter that he’d waited so many years to hear. He longed most of all to hold Athos and know that his precious boy was safe.

Sometimes, to soothe ragged nerves, he sat up at night writing long essays, love letters full of eroticism and romance, describing in detail what would happen when they were finally reunited. Eyes red from exhaustion and loneliness, he’d fall into bed, but not before he’d burnt his emotional outpourings, an echo of the charred letters Athos had penned when he was at his lowest. These had marked the beginnings of an affaire de coeur that had soon become the most important thing in Treville's life--more important even than duty--and he hoped fervently that this wretched war not bring an end to that love.

Things took a turn for the worse when the Treville opened the latest set of dispatches to find that they were written in d’Artagnan’s hand rather than coming from Athos. Quaking inwardly, he quickly read over the briefing in order to relay the information to the king.

“It says that they will be unable to hold the ground that they have occupied much longer without reinforcements. The regiment is much depleted, some companies all but destroyed, and the heavy bombardment by Spanish artillery is taking a constant toll.”

Treville could sense a lethargy in these words that had never existed in d’Artagnan before now. A year without break was too long in the field. Scanning the rest of the documents, he finally, and with utter relief, was able to ascertain that Athos was not dead, but he was severely wounded and unable, for the foreseeable future, to be in command.

“General,” he said, addressing the portly officer standing next to him. “The King’s regiment must be relieved at once.”

It was a strategic use of words, on his part, designed to get his Majesty onside. 

“Absolutely,” agreed Louis. “I cannot bear to hear of my own Musketeers being decimated.”

“If only the news were that good,” said Treville grimly. “According to d’Artagnan, more than half the men are dead.”

“And why is my captain no longer in command?”

“Athos has been wounded, Majesty,” answered Treville, hoping that no one would hear the underlying tremor of panic in his voice.

“Well then,” said the king. “The Musketeers must return to Paris. General, you will order another of your regiments to march for Catalonia and take their place.”

“Your Majesty, if we divert our armies now, any momentum we have gained will be wasted,” said General de Garmeau.

“And if we lose control of Catalonia then the Spanish forces will be unstoppable and will be marching into Paris within weeks,” said Treville. It was not entirely selfish; it also made tactical sense.

“I do see your point, Minister,” said de Garmeau with a frown, accepting defeat. He would not be stupid enough go against the will of both the king and his prime minister. “There is no sign of the Portuguese becoming involved as they had promised, so I will see to it that we strengthen our position in Catalonia. You may tell your Musketeers that they will soon be relieved. I will divert troops from the northern front.”

Having been dismissed by the king, de Garmeau and Treville exchanged a few curt words before parting company at the palace gates.

“I hope, for your sake, this does not go badly wrong,” said the general. “You’ve placed your own head on the chopping block for no reason other than blind loyalty to a single regiment.”

“Nonsense,” said Treville, hoping de Garmeau did not have the ability to read minds. “It was the logical solution.”

“We shall see,” said the general, marching off to his waiting carriage, ceremonial hardware rattling in irritation.

Despite things going his way, Treville was unable to find any peace that night, scrutinising every word that d’Artagnan had written in reference to Athos. Being severely injured in the field was not good. Musket wounds would likely fester, broken limbs would be amputated and then putrefy. The odds of him seeing Athos alive again were slim to none.

Resigning himself to the horror of losing the only thing he cherished in his life, Treville gave in to his upset and stifled his ongoing bouts of despair in the feather pillow until he was drained enough to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

With no further communication from any member of the Musketeer regiment forthcoming, Treville was beginning to fear that all had fallen as casualties of this blasted war. Heartbroken, he carried on as best he could, serving the king as minister for war in addition to all his other duties, and when a dispatch rider finally arrived from the Spanish front it was with great trepidation that he took the documents from the leather satchel and began to read.

The messages were from the captain of the cavalry regiment that had replaced the Musketeers, informing them that the handover had taken place efficiently and their position was secured, with two artillery regiments now in support. 

“It is good news, Sire,” said Treville, trying not to reveal his huge disappointment that the letters had not been from Athos. “We are winning on all fronts.”

Catalonia was still a protectorate of France. The army was successfully fending off Spanish attacks in the north and all was going well.

Now Treville could turn his mind to worries of a more personal nature. He tried not to think of his nearest and dearest on that long march home, but this proved to be an impossible task. He imagined Athos at death’s door, being carted back across the border and suffering agonising pain during the journey, yet even this was better than the utter grief that overwhelmed him during the darkest hours of the night when he was certain that his love was lost. 

Having had no news of d’Artagnan for months, Constance was equally distraught. Treville tried his best to reassure her, spending time at the house on Rue du Marché, cooing, as best he could manage, over little Alexandre. At times he was close to offloading his own worries, knowing that Constance would be an understanding and sympathetic shoulder, but to voice his troubles would only bring them closer to reality and instead he remained silent on the topic, as stoic as Athos would be under the same circumstances.

One cold Autumn morning with Paris swathed in a blanket of heavy grey fog, Treville could hear, even from inside the palace walls, a low thrumming sound. The noise built steadily and a clattering of horses’ hooves heralded the arrival of one of the palace guards who appeared in the state rooms, gasping for breath and red faced with excitement.

“They’re here,” he said. “The Musketeers are back in Paris.”

Resisting the urge to race through the streets, Treville turned to address the king. “I would very much like to greet them on their return to the garrison, Majesty.”

“Go,” said Louis with a dismissive flick of the hand. “Report back to me soonest on the dilapidated state of my poor regiment.”

“It’s time for my visit with the children,” said the queen, rising elegantly from her throne. “Walk with me, Treville.”

There was a dearth of conversation between them as they navigated the corridors, but then, just as Treville was about to take the exit for the stable yard, the queen addressed him in a low voice. “If anything has happened to Aramis you will let me know discreetly?”

“I will, your Majesty,” replied Treville in a gruff voice. The topic of that infamous affair was not one he relished, to say the least. She and Aramis had been foolish to risk so much.

“I pray that the Musketeers have returned safely,” she said. “For all our sakes.”

There was a distinct emphasis on the ‘our’ in her concluding phrase and Treville wondered if at some point he had let his guard down and allowed her a glimpse of his lovesick heart.

“We can but hope,” he said with a brusque nod of farewell. 

With too many other things on his mind to worry about the consequences of being discovered, he arrived at the stables, barking out orders for the grooms to tack up his horse. Once the mare was ready, he mounted her and was off like a streak of lightning, needing to be present at the garrison to see that broken down column of soldiers march back into barracks as he prepared himself for the worst.

It appeared that he was in the nick of time, the tumultuous cheering from the streets loud enough to deafen him as he dismounted in a hurry and handed over his horse to one of the garrison stable lads. 

Please let him be alive, he prayed silently, renewing his acquaintance with God for the first time in years.

Knowing in his heart that Athos would at best be in one of the horse drawn ambulances, at worst buried under a cairn of red Spanish rocks, he was overjoyed to see him leading his men home, the standard bearer beside him, proudly holding aloft the regimental colours.

“Athos,” he breathed, quietly enough that not even the person standing next to him, would be able to hear. It was his own private salute in recognition of the sheer fortitude of his man. 

“Minister,” said Athos, coming to a halt before him. “We are honoured by your presence.”

“Where else would I be but here?” said Treville, brimming over with joy as he was surrounded by his dear boys. All of them alive and safely back home.

Carefully masking his emotions, he looked up at Athos’ handsome face. Extra lines were ingrained from the traumas of being at the front for so long, and he could see from the tightness around his eyes that the man was in great pain.

“Can I help you dismount?” he asked.

“I was thinking I might just stay here for the night,” replied Athos, still able to dredge up a smirk from somewhere deep inside.

“Don’t you have any consideration for your poor horse?” boomed Porthos. “Come on now, my friend. Let me and the captain here give you a hand down.”

It was almost impossible for Athos to swing his leg over the saddle, and even with Treville and Porthos supporting him he was unable to suppress the cry of pain as he touched solid ground.

“What is hurt?” asked Treville.

“If you ask our illustrious commander, he will tell you nothing,” said Aramis. “But the truth is he has destroyed the ligaments in his knee when his horse was shot from under him and a musket ball has caused major damage to the musculature in his right arm. He is barely walking wounded, but was stubborn enough to insist that he should lead us home.”

“Enough from you,” smirked Athos, propped squarely between Porthos and Treville. “Go harass someone else.”

“No one is as much fun as you,” said Aramis as the four men stood in a line to watch the happiest of reunions as d’Artagnan gathered both wife and son in his arms.

“How can we make you comfortable?” asked Treville.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” admitted Athos, looking warily at the flight of steps that led to his quarters. “I can’t manage stairs.”

“You will soon enough,” said Aramis. “But I fear it will never be as easy as it once was.”

“Can you cope with a carriage ride?” asked Treville. “You can stay in my house whilst you’re recuperating.”

“I would be most grateful for that,” said Athos. He was shivering now from the huge amount of pain. “As long as it won’t inconvenience you.”

Treville smiled. “Not at all. I’ll be at the palace most of the time.” 

“Then let us go quickly before I humiliate myself and pass out,” said Athos through clenched teeth.

It was a short ride to Treville’s home, but every jolt of the carriage made Athos cry out in agony. “I will be fine once I can stretch out,” he assured Treville. “My muscles are seized from the ride home.”

Treville was not easily fooled. “Enough of your bravado,” he said and then added under his breath: “I intend to nurse you better.”

“Will you dress the part?” smiled Athos.

“I’ll do anything to make you well again,” replied Treville. “Even wear a nun’s habit, if it helps.”

“Believe me, the amusement factor alone will help immensely.”

But talk, as jovial as it had been, was too much of an effort and after that Athos lapsed into silence, doing his best to suppress the cries of pain as he was jolted in transit.

Now it was Treville’s turn to clench his teeth, praying just as fervently for the carriage to complete its short journey as he had begged God for Athos’ safe return. “We’re here,” he said in utter relief as they pulled up to the doors of the town house. “I’ll manage the patient,” he added rejecting an offer of help from the driver. “You can bring his trunk into the hall.”

The small salon, situated on the ground floor next to the kitchen, would do well as a bedroom. Helping Athos inside, he encouraged him to stretch out on the chaise which would suffice in the short term until an army cot could be brought over from the garrison.

Exhausted, Athos immediately fell asleep and after covering him with a blanket, Treville wrote to the king, informing him of the current state of his regiment and its commander. Having dispatched the coachman to deliver this message, he then pulled up a chair and sat next to Athos, watching over him as he slept fitfully, fighting off the fever that was threatening.

“Captain,” called a loud voice from the doorway. It was Porthos of course, with Aramis in tow. 

“We come bearing gifts,” continued the big soldier. “Aramis here has stolen every pot of pills and roll of bandage from the surgery, while I’ve raided the kitchens, for how is a man to get better if he does not eat?”

“We have a bed for him,” said Aramis who was putting sheets onto the cot. “Porthos, do something useful and make up the fire.”

Rousing Athos enough for a quick transfer from sofa to bed, Aramis and Treville supported him for those few steps, removing his clothes and then assisting in the transition from standing to lying flat.

“I will be better tomorrow,” said the patient breathlessly as Aramis redressed the wound in his arm and wrapped a roll of bandage tightly around his damaged knee.

“You will,” said Aramis. “But not well enough to be out of bed,” he added, feeding Athos a few drops from a bottle marked Tincture of Laudanum. 

“Is that necessary?” asked Treville, who had heard hair raising stories about men falling prey to the properties of that particular potion.

“It is, if only to stop him returning to work tomorrow,” explained Aramis. “You need to employ some servants and a nurse.”

“I’ll take care of him,” said Treville stubbornly.

“You two are well suited,” chuckled Porthos. “But I think you’re forgetting that your primary duty is to the king.”

“I’ll hire someone tomorrow,” said Treville, sinking down onto a chair with his head in his hands. “But for today…” The words petered out. If he continued to speak he would reveal far too many of his emotions: relief, fear, but most of all an endless amount of love. It all became too much for him.

“We’ll leave you to it,” said Aramis, clapping a hand down on Treville's shoulder in a gesture of comfort and support.

“Aren’t we going to help ‘em out with some of this food?” questioned Porthos.

“Tonight, my dearest man, I’ll treat you to a meal at the Wren,” replied Aramis. “And I may even turn a blind eye when you cheat at the card tables.”

“How can I say no to that?” Porthos followed Aramis to the door, before turning, at the last minute, to speak to Treville. “Don’t fret now, Captain. He’ll be right as rain now that he’s back here with you.”

When the front door slammed and they were finally alone, Treville took Athos’ hand between his and kissed each grimy fingertip.

“Help me up to the bedroom,” came a weary voice. 

“You can’t manage stairs,” said Treville, smiling through his anguish. “You said so yourself.”

“I’ll crawl up them if it means lying next to you.”

Tears of worry turned to those of happiness. “There’s little point in feeding you opium,” said Treville, wiping his eyes. “It may help with the pain, but it does little for your stubborn nature.”

“Then let us make the most of its analgesic effects and get me into your bed,” said Athos in a gruff voice.

It wasn’t an easy task but they managed it well enough and soon Athos was lying between the sheets with Treville undressing and slipping in beside him. Darkness had only just descended, but with no needs to be met other than being close to Athos, Treville couldn’t think of a better place to be.

“I’ve kept this room ready for your return, but have not slept here since we were last together,” he said, brushing the hair away from Athos’ forehead and then kissing the newly revealed skin which was furrowed slightly from pain. “Sleep now, my darling boy. I'm here.”


	14. Chapter 14

A few days later Treville was furious to discover that Athos had received a summons from the king.

“Who does he think he is?” he raged, pacing the bedroom. “I’m at the palace every day. I can relay messages between you.”

“He thinks he is the king,” said Athos reasonably as he swung his legs around in the bed and tested his knee. “He has asked to see me for a reason and I am well enough to go. Aramis declared my wound to be healing well when he last visited.”

Treville frowned at him. “And your leg?”

“Well, that is not such a good prospect, I admit, but I’m luckier than a lot of soldiers in that I still have it to walk on.” Athos smiled and took hold of Treville’s hand. “ _We_ are lucky.”

“And say so often,” said Treville, sitting next to him on the bed. 

“Only because it is true.” Cupping Treville's face Athos kissed him softly, but with an underlying passion that couldn’t be disguised. “Help me get ready and we’ll see what plans our monarch has in store for us.”

That single kiss, the first since Athos had returned, awoke in Treville not only his need for the other man, but also a burgeoning sense of joy. All the negative thoughts went flying out the window and he set about getting Athos dressed, filled with a lightness of spirit.

Before long they were both kitted up and embarking on their journey.

“How is the pain?” Treville asked as the carriage drove through the streets.

“Tolerable,” replied Athos, both hands curled around the mahogany top of his walking cane. 

“Liar.” Treville shook his head in despair.

“It would probably be easier if I were riding,” said Athos with a grimace. “But seeing as I can neither mount nor dismount without a winch and several assistants then I realise that’s not a practical solution.”

It was a relief to both when they arrived at the palace. Dignity being everything to a soldier, Treville allowed Athos to climb down from the carriage using only his stick as a prop, whilst making sure he was on hand in case the descent became too much.

“At least the state rooms are at ground level,” said Athos as he regained his composure and made his way to the entrance. “Otherwise you may have had to carry me up the stairs over your shoulder.”

Treville knew something serious was about to be announced as soon as he saw that d’Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos were also present, all three lined up in a row, their Royal Majesties seated on gilded thrones with the king looking most impatient.

“Treville, Athos, I’m glad you’ve finally deigned to make an appearance.”

Treville bridled at this, but Athos responded with a respectful tip of the head. “I apologise, your Majesty. I am a little slow on my feet at present.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Louis. “In fact, this is the exact reason we are all gathered here this morning. You may as well know, Athos, that I have decided to promote d’Artagnan as captain of the Musketeers. De Garmeau advises me that all regiments will be needed in action as soon as possible and it is clear you are in no fit state to resume command.”

Treville's anger was on the point of spilling over at this unilateral piece of decision making on the part of the king, but he was not the first to speak out against it.

“Your Majesty,” said d’Artagnan. “I absolutely cannot-”

“You can, d’Artagnan, and you will,” interrupted Athos. “You took over when I was wounded and did a damn fine job of it. No one has anything but the highest praise for you.”

“I went to you for advice on every single matter.” The young man’s head hung low in despair.

“And now you will have Porthos and Aramis as counsel,” said Athos. “D’Artagnan, war is still being waged across the continent and I will never be fit enough to lead the regiment from the front, the way I would wish to. We must all face facts.”

“Athos will still be giving you orders,” said the king, eyeing the newly demoted captain who, by now, was leaning heavily on his cane. “You will be my minister for war, leaving Treville free to take care of all other matters.” 

“I would be honoured to serve you in this capacity, your Majesty,” said Athos.

“And Treville, I expect you to see more of you at the palace,” said the king. “You have been remiss in your duties of late.”

“He has been busy trying to win a war for you,” said the queen, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “But I’m certain things will improve from now onwards."

A long time ago, Treville had suspected her Majesty of knowing that he was in love with Athos, and as of now he was certain. How she had come to learn of their affair was a mystery, but what mattered most was that she was a supporter of their relationship, as she had been with d’Artagnan and Constance. He wondered whether she would she be as gracious if she ever learned of the love between Aramis and Porthos.

Not long after this, the king grew tired of them and afterwards the five men gathered in the courtyard to discuss the events of the morning.

“Porthos, you and I may well have to be offended if we are not on the receiving end of a promotion soon,” laughed Aramis. “Athos has had two and d’Artagnan and Treville one apiece.”

“Not that you’re counting,” grinned Porthos.

“Not that I’m counting.” Aramis grinned back. “Truthfully, I’m more concerned that our friend here returns to bed in order to rest his injured leg.”

“I’m fine,” said Athos.

“You’re far from it,” replied Aramis. “Be sensible, man.” He turned his attention to d’Artagnan. “And you must stop worrying about things you cannot change and go tell Constance the good news.”

“I will,” said d’Artagnan. “She’ll be pleased at the idea of better wages.”

Once the Musketeers had departed for the garrison, Treville was able to concentrate on a weary looking Athos. “Let’s get you back to the house,” he said, helping the man into the carriage.

“Go see to the king,” said Athos, the corner of his mouth tipping upwards into a smirk. “You’ve spent far too much time in my company recently. I’m growing sick of the sight of your face.”

Treville was pleased to see the return of that cheeky nature. “You’ll pay for that when I get home,” he murmured, longing to press his lips against Athos’ smiling mouth.

“I’m counting on it,” replied Athos, his eyes dark with arousal.

Waving him off from the steps Treville then returned to the palace, and after several hours of monotonous paperwork and a few minutes spent admiring the royal children, he was satisfied that he had done his duty for the day and called for a carriage.

Night was drawing in, the house swathed in a blanket of silence, and having slammed home the bolts on the front door, Treville lit one of the lanterns and made his way upstairs, pleased that he had not followed Aramis’ instructions and taken on servants. This private time meant the world to them both.

Athos was asleep, his clothes scattered on the floor, his body spread out in a star shape on the mattress, half covered by blankets. A fire was still burning in the grate and after adding several logs to feed the flames Treville ignored the heat in his loins and remained clothed, resting on the edge of the bed and letting his mind drift.

“How long have you been home?” said a voice, gruff from sleep.

“A while,” said Treville, watching carefully as Athos took to unsteady feet to relieve himself in the chamber pot by the window.

“You should have woken me,” said Athos as he collapsed back into bed, braies and chemise unlaced, and then curled against Treville’s side.

“I like to see you at rest,” confessed Treville. “It tells me a lot about you.”

“Such as?”

Treville brushed the heavy locks of hair away from his forehead “You were relaxed, undisturbed by pain. Sleeping like a baby.” 

“I wasn’t as restful earlier.” Athos raised an eyebrow. “Not after your parting words to me at the palace.”

Now it was Treville’s turn to be cheeky. “Were you disgracefully aroused?” he asked. “Did you have to bring yourself off over thoughts of me spanking you?” Blood thundered as it always did when Athos turned those hot green eyes on him.

“I did. I played with my cock for hours whilst I waited for you.”

“Did you spend?”

Athos nodded. “All over myself and with your name on my lips.”

They hadn’t been intimate with each other since Athos’ return, Treville worried about adding to those injuries and Athos too sick to want sex of any kind. They’d both been more than content to simply lie together, but now Treville was undone at the thought of Athos, spread prone on the bed, rubbing himself off against the rough cotton sheets. 

Stuttering in a gasp of excitement, he stripped off in haste and knelt over his man. Careful not to disturb that injured knee, he tugged at the linen braies until the laces parted and that pretty cock was exposed, partially erect and leaking with anticipation. Bending his head, Treville lapped at the stream of fluid, moaning low in his throat as sense memory overwhelmed him and he was back in the bed at La Fère tasting Athos for the very first time. 

“My darling boy,” he said, prior to taking Athos into him, then swallowing that cock, he grazed it softly with his teeth and settled down to a slow suck that had Athos voicing loud approval of his actions. Employing every delaying tactic going, Treville made this last, his hand working at his own cock as he lavished Athos with his attention. Finally, when the man was so worked up he was in danger of causing harm to both knee and arm, Treville slid a finger inside him, crooked it and drank down the resulting burst of salty sweet goodness, working him off until he was spent.

“My turn now,” said Athos, lolling languidly in bed, all heavy eyed and sleepy smiles. 

“Don’t move an inch,” said Treville, lying on his side next to him. “I just want to look at you.”

Cock in hand, he continued to stroke himself, the steady stream of fluid enough of a lubricant to make this a glorious experience.

“I want to do more,” said Athos.

“This is perfect,” answered Treville, his voice husky with sex. He rubbed the head of his cock against Athos’ hip, then knelt up, still holding himself loosely and letting his erection glide over Athos’ near naked body.

Close to coming, Treville took a breather to strip Athos completely. “Are you comfortable on your front?” be asked, remembering how relaxed Athos had seemed earlier. 

“I am,” said Athos, pushing himself up with difficulty to sit next to Treville on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me like that?”

“I want you in every way possible,” said Treville, leaning in to take Athos’ mouth in a long and loving kiss that grew more passionate by the second. 

Athos sneaked a hand into his lap, clasping fingers tightly around his cock and pulling at it with rhythmic tugs. It was a simple pleasure, but it could not have been more perfect and Treville was lost, astounded that something as basic as kissing and touching could have such an emotional impact on him. 

His climax from this was sudden and powerful, disrupting his senses. “I love you,” he said and the words may have been muffled by tongues and lips, but they were clear enough.

“I love you too,” said Athos, wrapping his arm around a breathless Treville who was leaning spent against his good shoulder. “More than I ever thought possible.”

“When you’re well enough, Louis tells me you’ll be allotted your own suite of rooms at the palace,” said Treville.

“Then soon we’ll have a wealth of places in which to fuck.” Athos smiled. “Five that we can call our own and many more if we make use of the taverns. His expression grew more sombre. “I know I should feel resentment at being stuck here in Paris with the regiment marching out again.” He placed a tender kiss to Treville's lips. “But the truth is I don’t feel anything but relief. I’m grateful to have been given the opportunity to remain here with you.”

“No one is more grateful for that than I,” replied Treville in a solemn voice. 

Sleepless nights, spent fraught with worry, had taken their toll on both men, but this was the beginning of the life they had longed for, and in Treville’s opinion, one that they truly deserved.


	15. Chapter 15

War was a never ending business, interspersed by ceasefires that nobody believed would last, and treaties that were worth less than the parchment they were written on. It was a difficult time for all the Musketeers. Exhausted from injury and battle, Aramis handed in his commission and joined one of the Jesuit monasteries in the east. Hurt by this rejection Porthos soldiered on, until he too became disillusioned and became engaged to a wealthy widow. Only Athos and Treville were privy to the secret that the two men could not bear to be parted from one another and still met up as lovers with an ever increasing frequency.

D’Artagnan became, as Athos had long ago predicted, one of France’s greatest soldiers, leading the regiment to glory on dozens of occasions. He and Constance were also heavily occupied raising a family: three children so far, a fine son and two little girls who doted on their father. Two babies had died as infants and Constance never quite got over their loss, but she battled on as always.

When the king passed away suddenly in his sleep it came as a shock to everyone. For all his faults, Louis had grown to be a successful monarch and had rightfully earned the respect of his subjects. The court physicians suspected a malaise of the heart, but there was no absolute proof to back this up. One day he was healthy, the next he was gone and the young dauphin was now named monarch, his mother standing as regent.

With Anne falling under the spell of one of the new stock of Parisian clergymen, Treville found life at court hard going. However much he admired the queen, he was irritated, once again, at her rather obvious affection for Cardinal Mazarin. Once in love, she became blind to everything but her infatuation.

“I’m thinking of retiring,” he said to Athos as they lay cuddled together in that peaceful bedroom on the first floor of the town house. “I could go to La Fère and finish work on the stables. You could visit whenever possible.”

“Do I get a say in this?” asked Athos.

“Yes, of course you do,” snapped Treville. “After all, it’s your home in which I’ll be living.”

“ _Our_ home,” corrected Athos in a gentle voice. “But that’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. I don't trust Mazarin and neither do you. I think the queen may need us.”

“She may need us, but will she listen to our counsel?” said Treville. He very much doubted it, and why should he waste his life worrying about such matters when he had a beautiful man to attend to in bed. He could think of far more productive ways to use up his time and set about doing exactly that, his mouth moving restlessly over warm skin. “The queen will go her own way and so must we.”

Three months later he was proved woefully right.

The morning at court was going badly. Treville had called in assistance from General de Garmeau and d’Artagnan, but no-one had been able to dissuade Anne from her course of action.

“We must have peace with Spain,” she insisted.

Treville was aghast. To give up such hard fought ground was unthinkable.

“But Majesty,” said Athos earnestly. “If we concede on this then we are leaving France vulnerable to attack from all quarters.”

“He’s right, your Majesty,” chimed in d’Artagnan.

“If we hand over all our protectorates to Spain, we may as well open the doors to the palace,” said Treville. “The Spanish are not to be trusted.”

“Nonsense, Treville,” said Mazarin, his hand on the queen’s shoulder. “It is a small price to pay for peace. Have you not lost enough of your soldiers? Perhaps you would prefer more of them to charge into a slaughterhouse and be butchered?”

The anger built and built until it could no longer be suppressed. “Do as you see fit, your Majesty,” said Treville, “but I will not be a part of this. I cannot, in all honesty, serve you under these circumstances. I love France too much.”

“Are you are saying that the queen does not?” asked Mazarin.

“The minister is saying that he no longer wishes to carry on as advisor,” said Athos, steadying Treville with a look. “And sadly I find myself in the same position.”

“Very well,” said the queen, clearly taken aback by Treville's outburst. “I’ll be sorry to see you both go, but it seems there is no choice. You will be rewarded for your service to your country.”

“I wish for nothing, Majesty,” said Treville.

“Nevertheless you have earned it,” said the queen, turning her attention to the general. “De Garmeau, you will go as envoy to the Spanish, telling them that we agree to their terms.”

With that, the discussion was over and, alongside it, everything that Treville had worked for all his life. It was a lengthy route from state rooms to stables, but today the journey seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. His service to the French court was over. 

“You cannot simply walk away from this mess,” said d’Artagnan, fired up always and ready to fight.

“There is nothing else that can be done,” said Treville. “We are all painfully aware that the queen will not be persuaded. Use your Musketeers to try and discredit Mazarin, d’Artagnan. Do whatever you can, but I cannot serve France with him as regent in all but name. I am tired of this game and I wish to retire from it.”

“And you?” D’Artagnan rounded on Athos. “What will you do now?”

Athos shrugged. “Get well. Get fit. After that I do not know, d’Artagnan, but I have to believe that my actions are working for the good of France and if I carry on as I am, this will not be the case.”

“Aramis and Porthos have given up and now it’s your turn. I never thought the day would come that I would see you surrender.” D’Artagnan grew spiteful as was often the case when he was hurt.

“We have been routed,” said Athos, his arm about d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “But it is not yet a defeat.”

“Then why does it feel so much like one?” said d’Artagnan, shrugging him off and walking away.

Treville suspected that this exchange would weigh heavily on Athos. He had been both friend and mentor to the young Musketeer for many years. “Have you anything to be collected from your rooms here?” he asked by way of a distraction.

Athos smiled, downhearted but resilient. “Nothing at all seeing as we have spent most of our leisure time tucked up in our own bed.”

They had indeed grown careless when it came to matters of discretion, and perhaps now was the perfect time to make their escape from Paris.

“I can think of nothing better than wasting a few hours there right now,” replied Treville, unleashing that wolfish smile and casting off his earlier upset. Freedom was beginning to taste wonderful.

“I assure you it will not be a waste,” replied Athos.

During the short journey back to the townhouse there was a growing excitement in both of them that added to their limitless desire for each other. Treville raced up the stairs with Athos following on behind, hampered by his limp, but still making good speed. 

Undressing with casual ease, they fell into bed, kissing, touching, laughing at the pleasure of having each other and the prospect of soon being able to do this as freely and as often as they had a mind to.

Tumbling around into a suitable position for some soixante-neuf, Treville took Athos’ cock into his mouth, groaning in pleasure as the move was reciprocated. Lazy from the summer heat he sucked languidly, drinking him down as he spent and then laughing as that darling man of his rolled over, spread out expectantly.

“It’s too hot for fucking,” he teased, pulling at himself. “You do the work for once.”

“Can’t,” said Athos, patting his knee. “Gammy leg, remember?”

“Idle, more like,” said Treville, sitting up and dragging at Athos until he was lying prone across his knee. “I’m going to give you ten of the best to make you try harder.”

As his palm made contact with Athos’ bottom, the soft sigh of pleasure was music to his ears. “I’ll do this to you outside when we’re home,” he murmured. La Fère had been this to them both for years. “Make you strip off in the meadow and brace yourself up against the tree. Then I’ll use the switch on you until you’re ready to come.”

Athos squirmed against him, hardening again from the spanking and the dirty talk.

“You ready for some comfort?” asked Treville. “Are you going to be a good boy from now on?”

“Yes, Papa. I promise,” gasped Athos. “Please fuck me."

What followed on from this was incredible. On fire from their games, Athos arched and canted his hips, moaning like a whore as Treville filled him inch by inch.

“You like having Papa’s big cock in you?” The words were dirty but delicious, so wrong that they were perfect.

“I love it. I need it.” Athos stared upwards, his eyes glazed. “Fuck me harder.”

Consumed by his pretty and utterly perverted man, Treville lost control, taking Athos with such violent delight that the bed creaked and groaned from the strain. 

“See to yourself,” he demanded, watching with ever increasing pleasure as Athos pulled at his cock, fist flying as he masturbated. 

It was a punishing display of self abuse and Treville took advantage. “You’re a bad boy for doing that to yourself,” he cried, slamming inside Athos’ body until he could feel the start of climax unfurl in his belly and with it spiraling through him, he watched from another plane as Athos came for a second time in an hour, his semen a thin trickle that gushed over his cock.

“Retirement suits us,” chuckled Athos as they lay together in a sweaty heap. “That was our filthiest screw yet.”

“You wait until I have you to myself, all day and everyday." Treville kissed him on the shoulder. “That’s when you’ll find out the true meaning of filthy.”

“If anyone else ever found out.” Athos buried his face against Treville’s shoulder.

“But they won’t,” said Treville, his heart on fire with happiness. “Soon we’ll be gone from here for good.”

Over the course of the next few weeks, Treville began setting his affairs in order with both bank and solicitor. The queen had offered him a title and lands in the south of the country which he had politely declined, but had accepted the offer of a hefty retirement pot. With the townhouse now under arrangement to be sold, he began to prepare for their move to the country.

“Why have you nothing to do?” he asked Athos, who had spent all the recent days of unemployment improving his level of fitness with little regard for the adventure that lay ahead. 

“All my belongings are here,” said Athos, resting the heel of his boot on a small coffer. “Other than that, I have just one rather fractious man to bring with me who seems intent on making mountains out of molehills.”

Treville strode across the room and seized the glass from Athos’ hand, slamming it down on a side table and then resting his arms about Athos’ neck. The chair creaked as he leaned against him. “Fractious am I?”

“Crabby even, one might say.”

They succumbed to the need for kisses, lost in one another with Treville straddling Athos’ lap as he took great pleasure in that wine flavoured and sweetest of all mouths. These moments were the ones he cherished most, when Athos was playful and giving, happy to spend time with him in such a simple way. Kissing was the perfect expression of their love.

When the door burst open, there was no time to separate before being discovered in this compromising position. As speedily as Treville tried to remove himself from Athos’ lap, he was never going to be quick enough to avoid prying eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

“I apologise at having to interrupt you in this way, gentlemen.” D’Artagnan stood in the doorway of the salon, no look of outrage or disgust on his face as he took in the scene before him. “But unfortunately the queen has told Mazarin of her suspicions regarding your relationship,” he continued urgently. “And right now he is sending a troop of guard to have you both arrested. There’s a carriage waiting outside. Get your belongings together and leave here as quickly as possible.”

Both men stumbled to their feet, Treville feeling as sick to the stomach as if he were suffering a bilious attack. There was no point in either of them trying to deny that they were lovers. It was as clear, from the intimacy of their position, as if they had been caught fucking.

“D’Artagnan,” said Athos, his face drained of all its colour. “Please let me explain.”

“There is no need, my dear friend,” said d’Artagnan and approaching Athos he clasped an arm around his neck and pulled him close until their foreheads met. “I understand and I’m happy for you both. Now go, for God’s sake. Hurry.”

As frightened as he had ever been in his life, Treville helped Athos load the coach with their belongings whilst d’Artagnan kept a look out. “Will La Fère be safe?” he asked as he strapped trunks to the rear of the carriage, the horses whinnying, ready to be off.

Athos shook his head. “The king always told the queen everything that he found of amusement and I’m certain he would have let slip about my former title.” He paused a moment. “But there is somewhere else-”

“Do not let me hear of it,” interrupted d’Artagnan, grasping Treville’s hand firmly and then taking Athos in his arms and kissing his cheek. “At least then I’ll not be lying when the queen asks if I know of your whereabouts. Go to this place and be safe and happy together. God speed.”

Their emotional farewell was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the cardinal’s guard. 

“Now it’s my turn to insist that you go, d’Artagnan,” said Treville as he drew his sword.

“And miss a good fight?” said d’Artagnan, his rapier already in hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Three against six seems good odds to me,” said Athos as he lunged at the first two guards with his customary amount of joie de vivre.

“I’d bet on us,” replied d’Artagnan, clashing blades with the third and launching a boot to the stomach of another who tried to get the better of him.

Treville too was happy to be in the midst of a fight, especially enjoying the banter between the other two men as they skirmished.

“If only Porthos and Aramis were here,” yelled d’Artagnan as his sword thrust deep into the chest of his current opponent. “They’d have loved this.”

“I’m rather glad they’re not,” countered Athos, stretching out his damaged arm after polishing off a second opponent with a swingeing blow from his rapier. “It would have been far too easy a fight.”

“We would have hardly drawn breath,” agreed Treville as he dispatched another of the guards.

As the final soldier attempted to make a getaway, Athos took out his dagger and threw it at the departing back. It hit home, the blade slicing clean between the shoulder blades as the man dropped to the ground. 

“Just as I expected; you're as good as ever,” said d’Artagnan who had his pistol in his hand ready to fire in case Athos had missed his target. “Now get your backsides out of Paris whilst I clean up here.”

“Thank you, d’Artagnan,” said Athos earnestly. “We’ll never forget this kindness. Once the heat has died down I’ll let you know where we are, in case you’re ever in need of our help.” Climbing up next to Treville, he raised his hand in a gesture of farewell and took the reins, geeing on the horses and steering them across the bridge.

“And will I be privy to our destination any time soon?” asked Treville, pistol in hand as he looked over his shoulder to make sure the coast was still clear.

“You will indeed once I remember its location,” said Athos, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “It’s many years since I’ve been to Bragelonne.” 

“Bragelonne?” questioned Treville, who had never heard of the place.

“It belonged to my mother’s family and, whilst she was alive, my father made use of it as a hunting estate, but like everything else it fell to rack and ruin after she died.”

“And now we have all the time in the world to make it ours, just as we did with La Fère,” said Treville, trying his best to raise two sets of flagging spirits. He was saddened at the sudden erasure of their long planned future and was certain that Athos would be feeling far worse than he at having to give up on his home. “I’ll be happy with a hovel in the woods if it means spending the rest of my life with you,” he said, letting his palm come to rest over a gloved hand.

“We may be heading for precisely that,” said Athos with a wry smile. “The truth is I have no real memory of the place.”

“So it will come as a surprise to both of us,” smiled Treville. “The perfect way to begin our adventure.”

After a brief rest stop and a change of horses, Athos took the driving seat once again, shifting around and attempting to find a more comfortable position for his aching leg. 

Treville stole the reins from his hands. “Try and get a little sleep,” he said, patting Athos on the thigh. “I’ll wake you if we come to any junctions in the road.”

Grateful for this opportunity, Athos stretched out as best he could and dozed, resting against Treville for both support and warmth. 

Glancing sideways, Treville could see how much the events of today had sapped the man of his strength. He may have enjoyed the sword fighting, but it had been taxing, as had the burden of being found out. Treville, however, wasn’t going to let anything ruin this day. Their life together was so close now that he could almost taste it and, wrapping an arm around Athos, he urged on the horses.


	17. Chapter 17

Covered by ivy, the wooden gates were partially rotted and had come away from their hinges. It took all the efforts of both men to open them enough for the carriage to pass through, and afterwards, puffing and panting, they regained their energy and surveyed the overgrown path which, Treville assumed, must lead to some kind of a house.

“How many years has the estate lain dormant?” he asked as they climbed back into the carriage.

“I should imagine it’s at least fifteen since anyone but poachers have entered the place,” replied Athos. “Let's hope the locals haven’t plundered all the stone from the walls.”

The track was muddy from recent storms, the wheels of the vehicle in danger of getting stuck fast in the old ruts, and when they finally reached the building it was an unprepossessing sight, still in one piece but distinctly derelict.

“And to think I called La Fère a ruin,” said Athos grimly as he shoulder barged the doors to allow them entry to their new home.

It was, as Athos had described, an abandoned hunting lodge, trophies of the kills glaring balefully down from the walls, moth-eaten with age. The whole place was medieval and colder than the La Fère family crypt, the furnishings sparse and covered in so much grime they appeared ghost like in the dimming light. 

“How will we ever make this mausoleum into a home?” said Athos, sinking into a chair and creating a cloud of dust in the process.

“You’re spoilt,” chuckled Treville who was still examining the room. “Most folks would be grateful for one castle, let alone two. Now stop moping and let’s hunt down a serviceable axe so we can go and chop some firewood.”

“I suppose we’re lucky it’s summer,” said Athos as they strolled the rambling grounds. “Though one wouldn’t know it inside.”

With fires lit in both chamber and hall, candles burning in sconces and their belongings unloaded from the carriage, Bragelonne seemed a little more habitable. The strange chittering noises from above were disconcerting, and after a nervous investigation they discovered a colony of bats living on the uppermost floor of the ruined house.

“I think we’ll leave them to it for now,” said Athos, closing the door firmly.

A second peek into what would soon become their bedroom showed it in a new light. The fire had warmed it enough to make it comfortable and the bed was solid and large. With clean linens and blankets it would be more than adequate.

“Shall we test things out and mess it up a little?” suggested Treville, tumbling them both backwards in a sudden frenzy of excitement. 

The dust cloud that followed on from this gave him a dreadful sneezing fit and caused Athos to laugh with sheer abandonment at the ridiculous sight. 

“Come on,” he said once his fit of hysteria was over. “Let's raid the provisions, crack open a bottle of wine and make this hovel feel more like a home.”

“You’re truly spoilt if you consider this a hovel,” teased Treville. “How about you fix us a meal whilst I’ll beat the mattress and change the sheets,” he added. “There are things I want to be doing to you later that won’t go at all well if I’m coughing and spluttering all over your cock.”

It took a fair while to make the bed serviceable and by the time Treville returned, his arms full of ancient linens, Athos was seated by the fire, boots kicked up onto the iron fender and a glass of wine in his hand.

“Lord of the manor already,” laughed Treville.

“And you can be my lady,” replied Athos, nodding at the less ornately carved chair next to him.

Throwing the pile of bed sheets into a corner, Treville took up the offer of the seat and accepted a glass of claret. “Here’s to having a true bolt hole,” he said.

Athos tipped his head in agreement. “I doubt anyone will ever find us here, even if we wished them to.”

“Then could it honestly be more perfect?” Treville didn’t think so. With a little work they could turn this hideaway into their own private Eden.

“Another new home.” Athos’ smile was full of nostalgia. “When I arrived in Paris all those years ago I had no purpose and my only intention was to drink myself to death.” 

“That was clear to all,” said Treville.

“What did you ever see in me?”

Treville let his hand rest on Athos’ forearm, never in his wildest dreams imagining that he’d be so at ease with another person. The past seemed like a distant land and he sent his mind back to that other country in order to answer Athos’ question. 

He’d heard the Musketeers telling stories about a drunken troublemaker who spoke like a lord and fought like a thug, picking a fight with every soldier he met on his wine soaked journey around the capital. Aramis and Porthos had been most impressed with his skills and, trusting their opinions implicitly, Treville had decided to see for himself, watching from a distance as Athos had slowly been taken down by half a dozen men and then dunked in a horse trough.

“Even when you’d reached the depths of despair, you never gave in,” he said. “This was a quality I found highly admirable.”

It was more than that of course. After a night in the cells to sober up, Athos was brought before Treville, filthy dirty, cut and bruised but as always defiant. Refusing to give anything but a single name, he’d stood before him unyielding, looking him directly in the eye.

“Have you ever been a soldier?” Treville had asked to which Athos shook his head. “We could use a man like you, if you’re interested.”

It was unheard of to recruit in such a way. Unless a commission was purchased or the man had family ties, Musketeers were always hand picked from other regiments, but Treville had been determined to make an exception for Athos.

“I saw something in you,” he said, drinking deeply from his glass. “I’m glad I followed my instincts.” 

Athos looked at him, eyes heavy lidded with arousal. “Shall we continue this upstairs?” he said in that lilting voice.

To go to bed in this strange house was new and exciting. A honeymoon, thought Treville and was then filled with embarrassment at such romantic nonsense.

“Our wedding night,” said Athos as he climbed naked beneath the sheets.

Treville laughed, happy that they were so perfectly connected. “I was telling myself off for thinking the same thing,” he said as he slipped in beside Athos and pulled him close. “You’re my world, Athos. I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

“And I’ve never loved anyone as much,” replied Athos honestly.

Treville was overjoyed to hear that Milady was a thing of the past. “Why did you agree to join the regiment?” He had often asked this question before, but had never yet received a definite answer.

“Because of you,” said Athos. “I saw you and for the first time in months I stopped grieving.”

The conversation died down to be replaced by kissing. Treville would never tire of Athos’ mouth which brought him such a huge amount of pleasure in so many ways. Holding each other close, cocks hardening and rubbing together, they continued like this for a long time, licking, sucking, simply enjoying each other.

“I wanted you from the start,” said Athos, pulling back a little. “I’d never wanted another man before and it frightened me. My feelings for my father were confused but never sexual. With you it was the culmination of every taboo desire inside me, and however much I knew that I should walk away, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Treville was struck by the sudden notion of how empty his world would have been if Athos had done just that. Even before there was any hope of sex between them, he’d grown utterly reliant on the man as both lieutenant and friend.

“I cannot imagine a life without you,” he said, encouraging Athos onto his back. Letting his hand drift downwards, he pumped at that stiff cock, using the flow of fluid as lubricant to ease the passage of his fingers.

“And now you will never have to,” murmured Athos, lifting his legs ready as Treville rolled on top of him.

It was as hot as a furnace between the sheets and, throwing back the covers, Treville positioned himself and thrust inside Athos until he was buried to the hilt in that wonderful body. It had been an emotional night. The talk of being wedded had brought them closer than ever and, for the first time ever, they had spoken openly of the impact they’d each had on the other. It was a love at first sight that had taken years to come to fruition.

“Let me,” said Athos and still locked together he urged Treville onto his back.

“But your knee,” said Treville.

“My knee is fine,” said Athos, testing its strength as he raised up and then dropped back down.

“Oh dear god, that’s good,” cried Treville, arching to meet Athos as he rode him with graceful ease.

This was heavenly, as divine as that mouth, and it grew more pleasurable still when Athos took himself in hand and began to stroke his cock, the sight of which Treville would never grow tired.

“That’s it, my beautiful boy,” he cried. “Come for me. Come all over Papa.” He joined in and together they worked Athos to climax and then down from its heights. “On all fours now,” he said, his cock jerking a little at the thought of having Athos in this way after so long.

Again they shifted, Athos spent from orgasm but presenting himself with a wriggle of the hips and a slight rocking motion.

It was a glorious sight and, as hard as he’d ever been in his life, Treville knelt up and, with a hand pressed to the base of Athos’ spine, began to push slowly inside, watching the passage of his cock as it vanished. Wary of causing further injury to that damaged knee, he began to move at a steady pace, but soon Athos was thrusting back against him, urging him on with entreaties that were a combination of absolute smut and desperate declarations of need. “Do it, Papa. I love you. I’ll love you always. Fuck me harder. Harder, Papa, harder.”

“Athos,” Treville growled as he could resist no longer and with fingers dug deep into Athos’ narrow hips he shuddered and came in a blissful torrent. “My love,” he whispered after it was over. “My own boy.”

“It’s a good thing we have no neighbours other than the bats and the foxes,” said Athos as he collapsed face down on the bed. “I was tired of having to be quiet at your house.”

“You quiet?” chuckled Treville. “I’m not surprised that the queen knew about us, only that the rest of Paris didn’t also.”

They slipped naturally back into each other's arms -- a perfect fit.

“The things we say to each other are more than a little odd.” Athos was blushing as he inevitably did when he overthought their antics between the sheets.

“The things we say are for us alone and therefore are no one else’s business.” Treville combed his fingers through Athos’ hair. “It makes us happy and that’s all that matters.”

The line between playtime and love making, which had been so well defined to begin with, was now becoming blurred, but that was simply an organic progression that came from spending so much of their lives together. There was nothing more comforting than being free to speak with an open heart and to act naturally without worry.

“Stop trying so hard to make sense of us,” he continued. “Let us be.”

“Let us be,” repeated Athos, utterly relaxed now in Treville’s arms. “I like that. I can live by that."

Reaching for the bedcovers, Treville settled Athos against him, kissing the top of his head and listening to the sounds of nothing but gentle snores. He could do with a piss before sleep, but would not disturb this moment for the world. An aching bladder was a small price to pay for such happiness.


	18. Chapter 18

Restoring La Fère had seemed like an uphill task at times, but it was nothing compared to the rebuild of Bragelonne. Carting back endless amounts of supplies of materials from the surrounding area, the two men set about making the place a home rather than a vast and echoey stone cave. Much of the work was done by themselves, creating a usable kitchen and fixing all the rotten woodwork, but they did pay craftsmen to glaze the upper windows and rebuild the stables.

Treville, whose heritage lay in farming, was happy to grow vegetables for the pot and they both enjoyed days out hunting, coursing for hares and shooting bucks for a ready supply of venison. It was more of an adventure than either of them had ever imagined possible as they lived a life that was a cross between that of kings and wild men of the forest, hard work but satisfying.

“Will we always be this happy?” asked Athos who was currently sprawled out on the thick fur rug in front of the fire, letting the heat work its magic on his aching knee.

“I can’t see why not,” replied Treville, stretching next to him and relaxing back into a nest of pillows.

“We have no idea of what’s going on in the world,” said Athos, refilling their glasses. “Don’t you ever wonder how the war against Spain is going?”

“At times,” admitted Treville, but in truth those were growing fewer and farther between. “D’Artagnan knows where we are if he ever needs our help.”

“I also sent word to Porthos and Aramis,” confessed Athos. “They’re the best of friends to us and can be trusted.”

“Of course,” said Treville. “You have no need to justify your actions to me.” Turning Athos over onto his back, he peppered that exposed throat with dozens of kisses. “I’m no longer your superior.”

“Perhaps not,” said Athos, “but I love nothing more than when you take control.”

Hungry for something other than the meat that was roasting, Treville heaved in a sigh of delight at having Athos fall into submission. 

“Strip off,” he said, his voice thickening with desire. “Show me how much you need this.”

Hauling himself to his feet, Athos removed his clothes item by item, then folding them and placing them neatly on the chair as Treville had taught him to do. Standing naked, and rigid, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor, though his arms hung loosely at his sides as a clear indicator of how relaxed he was.

“Undress me now,” said Treville letting his eyes roam over Athos. God, but the man was a picture, his hair a mess of tangled waves, muscles defined from all the hard work over the past few months. These dark winter nights were a blessing, a time to catch up on those everlasting sessions of love making that had been less frequent when days were long and tiring.

Athos tended to him, removing his clothing with care and treating him with the utmost respect. Treville enjoyed it immensely when his lover acted up out of a need to be disciplined, but these times were equally as exciting when Athos was perfectly behaved and seeking a different kind of authority.

“There’s a good man,” said Treville once he too was naked. Pulling at his own erection with languid strokes, he crooked a finger, tucking it under Athos’ chin and tipping his head upwards until their eyes met. “You deserve a treat, my boy. When I say so, you may kneel down and suck my cock. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Papa,” breathed Athos.

Leaning in, Treville took Athos’ mouth in a slow and satisfying kiss, as much a part of their foreplay as any touching of erogenous parts. “Beautiful,” he said when he had finished with him. “On your knees now.”

Obediently Athos fell to the floor, not diving into action, but instead waiting patiently for further instruction.

Thrumming with anticipation, Treville held his cock loosely between his fingers and drew it along the seam of Athos’ lips. “Open up for me,” he ordered. “That’s right. Take me in just a little at a time.”

To have Athos pliable like this was Treville's current favourite out of their many and varied games. The man was a treasure trove of kinks and perversions and he delighted in exploring each one. Knees bent slightly, he fucked into that willing mouth, letting his cock slide over the soft sponginess of Athos’ tongue. “You may suck me now,” he said after a few more thrusts into warm, wet heaven.

With a moan of relief Athos dotted hard flesh with delicate kisses, laving every inch of Treville with precise detail. 

It was an act they both relished. Something that they were supremely skilled at by now, sixth senses so well honed that they were able to keep each other on the verge of coming for hours at a time. Treville enjoyed doing this so much that he had embarrassed himself on occasion, coming from the sheer enjoyment of having Athos’ cock in his mouth. Today, though, he was very much the master.

He watched, with a sense of detachment as Athos went to work, sucking at each heavy ball then licking all the way to the tip of his erection to lap up the steady stream of fluid. The sensation when he was pounced upon, Athos taking him deep into the coil of his throat, was nothing short of paradise. Fingers twisting into curls, Treville held him in place, stilling the rise of his climax and then fucking that pretty face with just the right amount of brutality before pulling out, not a moment too soon.

His cock was rigid, swollen, a deep plum red in colour and glistening from Athos’ spit. “You have a choice, my darling boy,” he said in a low voice. “How should I take my pleasure in you today? On your face, in your arse, or inside your mouth?”

“All over me.”

Treville was pleased at the choice. “Sit back on your haunches then,” he said. “Make sure to bring yourself off before I come otherwise you’ll have to wait until I’m ready for you again.”

Athos’ cock jutted up from the apex of his thighs, a thick, strong bar of flesh, beautifully ridged with an aesthetic curve to it. The skin had rolled back to reveal the head which was dark pink in colour and glossy from its own natural lubricant. Fluid pearled at the slit and then trickled over with excitement. It was a mouthwatering sight, enough to have Treville surging and on the point of release.

“Go on then,” he insisted, aching to see Athos masturbate.

Cupping his balls with one hand, Athos spat into his palm and let the circle of fingers glide slowly over his length, up and down, up and down, never taking his eyes away from his lover.

Treville matched him move for move, thrusting into his fist, every muscle tensing as he held himself at the precipice, needing to see more.

Athos was moaning now, eyelids shuttering as he changed grip and tugged at himself, still slow and steady, but with an ever increasing amount of force to his movements.

Licking dry lips Treville heaved in gasps of air, squeezing his balls as the pull began deep in his belly. “Fuck,” he cried as his fist flew in unrestrained abandonment and he drenched Athos in a flow of semen.

Athos’ own orgasm was simultaneous and just as impressive, strings of ejaculate joining with Treville’s to spatter the rug in their juices.

Sticky wet from this combined mess they collapsed together, needing the comfort that came from touching, holding and, most importantly, kissing and kissing and still more kissing. Lying entwined together, as they took luxurious delight in each other’s mouths, Treville knew full well that this was merely an appetiser for the evening’s entertainment.

*

Just as it seemed Winter was giving up the ghost, a sudden storm dumped several inches of snow upon Blois and as the temperature descended and remained below freezing for weeks on end they were effectively trapped in their own cocoon of happiness until a late thaw heralded the arrival of Spring.

As well as daffodils and some much longed for green vegetables, the new season also brought with it the excitement of visitors.

Athos was overcome with joy at seeing his brothers after such a long absence from them and Treville had to tamp down an unexpected burst of jealousy at witnessing their long lasting threeway embrace, that green tinged flare vanishing immediately when Porthos held out an arm to him.

“Don’t think you're escaping a proper welcome, Captain,” he said in a gruff voice.

With an impromptu meal to prepare, Treville left the three Inseparables to catch up, dipping in and out of the conversation as he passed through the hall, being a thoroughly good wife and not only doing the cooking, but also making up a bed in the least dingy of the spare rooms.

“I suppose we could never expect our Athos to be the domestic one of the partnership,” chuckled Porthos, swilling down the contents of his glass.

“You’d be surprised,” said Treville, sitting down at the table to join them and refilling all the cups. “He folds his own clothes now.”

“You do me a disservice.” Athos cuffed Treville lightly around the head. “I do a little more than that.”

“A little,” agreed Treville with an affectionate smile. “And what of you two? How is your wealthy widow, Porthos?”

“Died soon after I married her,” said Porthos with a shrug. “Leaving me a wealthy widower with a title-”

“And a gentleman caller,” interrupted Aramis with a cheeky grin. “The baron here is in need of spiritual guidance. So much so, he requires his own personal abé.”

“In the same way her Royal Highness does,” muttered Treville, still smarting over their treatment at the hands of the queen regent and her consort.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged glances. 

“Actually, my dear friends, this is precisely the reason for our visit,” said Aramis. “France is headed for trouble and d’Artagnan is at his wit’s end. He doesn’t dare leave court for fear of what Mazarin will do next, and so he sent message to me at the abbey in hope that we could do something to assist.”

“But what can we possibly do?” said Treville. “Athos and I cannot safely return to Paris and, even if we could, there would be no point in us doing so. The queen may only be protector of the throne, but to act against a regent is still a matter of treason.”

“Not quite so, Captain,” growled Porthos. “The situation has changed somewhat since you were last in town.”

“D’Artagnan has informed me that the queen is no longer in accord with Mazarin, “ explained Aramis. “She wants him removed, but lacks the power to do so alone. She has asked for our help.”

“And our young friend is sure of this?” questioned Athos.

Porthos nodded. “He says so and we all trust him with our lives, do we not?”

Treville looked at Athos. Lives would indeed be forfeit if this coup went wrong. How much would they be willing to risk? “What should we do?” he asked.

“We do what we must,” said Athos, his lips tilting into a half smile. “We’ll rid France of Mazarin the way the we rid her of Rochefort.”

Treville breathed in deeply to steady himself. It was a dangerous task to take on, but they were honourable men, soldiers of France, and as such would always be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of their country. “Mine will go down in history as the shortest retirement ever,” he said with a rueful chuckle.

“You always did long for adventure.” Under cover of the table, Athos reached for Treville’s hand and squeezed it firmly. 

“To France,” toasted Porthos, chinking his glass against the rest.

“To brothers and friends.” Aramis surveyed all three companions with love in his eyes. “To the Musketeers.”

 

\---end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your never ending support along this weird journey. I'm massively grateful to you all, and would like to report that the next thing I'm writing is high on h/c and low on smut. (My porn dictionary has run out of words.)
> 
> Much love as always.
> 
> <3


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